My maternity leave ended right before New Year's Day, and I returned to the kindergarten. As luck would have it, Ms. Su from the Sprout Class had fallen ill, so Principal Bonnie Randolph assigned me to take over temporarily.
I spent my first day memorizing the names and habits of twenty-two children. The familiar rhythm of tiny voices and sticky fingers settled something restless inside me.
It felt good to be back.
The next morning, I stood at the entrance with the other teachers, wearing my professional smile as we welcomed the children.
That was when I met Caroline James.
Designer labels dripped from her head to toe—flashy, loud, impossible to miss. She marched up and practically shoved her son, Jonathan Barber, into my arms.
"You're Ms. Henson, right?" Her gaze raked over me like I was a stain on her Louboutins. "You're new, so you don't understand my Jonathan yet. I need to set a few ground rules."
I blinked. Kept the smile in place. "Please, go ahead."
"First." She ticked off points on manicured fingers, her nails lacquered blood-red. "You will handwrite a five-hundred-word growth diary for Jonathan every single day. It must include hand-drawn illustrations. Hand it directly to me."
*Five hundred words? Hand-drawn?*
"Second, Jonathan's seat must be in the absolute center of the first row. You will personally feed him his meals and water, and assist him with the toilet. Since Jonathan is small, I expect you to kneel while serving him so you're at his level."
My smile was starting to crack at the edges.
"Third, you will answer my calls within three rings. I need to check on Jonathan's status at any moment."
I opened my mouth to respond—
She waved a dismissive hand, cutting me off.
"And one point I want to emphasize: for the New Year's Day performance of *Snow White*, my son will play the Prince. The other children can be his servants."
My brows drew together. This was pushing the boundaries of absurdity.
But Caroline wasn't finished.
Her gaze dropped to my chest. Lingered.
Then she pulled a crumpled ten-dollar bill from her designer bag and pinned it directly onto my shirt.
"I heard you just finished maternity leave. Still breastfeeding." Her tone was matter-of-fact, like she was discussing the weather. "Perfect. Jonathan hates cow's milk—he only drinks breast milk. So from now on, you'll serve as Jonathan's wet nurse."
She patted the bill against my chest.
"This ten bucks is your tip. Feed him once every hour. If he doesn't finish his portion, don't expect to clock out on time."
They say extreme anger often manifests as laughter.
I finally understood what that meant.
In all my years as an educator, I had never encountered such a bizarre, entitled *Empress Dowager* of a mother.
Seeing that I hadn't immediately obeyed, Caroline shoved Jonathan's head toward me. "Jonathan, time to eat!"
Reflex took over.
I pushed Jonathan back, set him firmly on the ground, and whipped out my phone.
Record.
"Mrs. Barber." My voice came out cold. Steady. "This is sexual harassment and forced indecency. I can call the police right now."
Caroline froze.
A frown marred her heavy makeup. "I'm just letting my son have a sip of milk. How is that indecency? You teachers are so prissy. And dirty-minded, too!"
Unhurried, I shoved the camera lens directly into her face.
"Mrs. Barber, do you need me to explain the penal code? Forcing a woman to breastfeed your child constitutes sexual harassment and assault. I can sue you."
It wasn't my imagination.
The surrounding teachers cast shocked, approving glances my way.
