My four-year-old son would always cry whenever he was left with his grandmother. When I found out why, I was stunned.
I always thought of my family as strong and unbreakable. Sure, there were disagreements, but who doesn’t have them? Especially with my mother-in-law, Carol Johnson. We were never close. She looked at me with a chill, as though I’d stolen her son from under her wing. Despite our strained relationship, I entrusted her with our most precious possession—our son, Alex. I believed a grandmother could never harm her own grandchild.
When work became overwhelming for both my husband and me, we decided that twice a week Carol would pick Alex up from preschool in our village near Bath. On paper, it seemed perfect: our child would spend time with his grandmother, and we could focus on our responsibilities. It seemed like everyone was happy. However, soon I noticed something was off.
Alex began to change. Each time she was due to visit, he clung to my skirt, tears streaming down his face, begging not to go. At first, I dismissed this as childish whims—perhaps he didn’t want to leave his friends at preschool or maybe he was just tired. But my concern grew. When he returned home, he wasn’t himself: quiet, withdrawn, like a shadow of his former self. Sometimes he wouldn’t eat, sitting silently in a corner, staring into space. Once, when the phone rang and I mentioned, “It’s grandma,” he flinched as if struck and hid behind the sofa. That’s when I knew: this was serious.
I decided to speak with my son. At first, he was silent, only clutching me, trembling like a leaf in the wind. But I promised him, “If you tell me, I won’t leave you with her again.” That’s when he broke down and whispered:
“Mum, she doesn’t love me… says I’m a bad boy.”
My heart tightened painfully. Tears burned at my eyes, but I held them back.
“What does she do, my darling?”
“She yells if I’m not quiet. Says I bother her. Sometimes, she locks me in a room and tells me to think about how to behave.”
I felt the blood drain from my face, my fingers turning white as they gripped the armrest of the chair.
“You were alone in there? For long?”
“Yes… And when I cried, she got even angrier.”
I couldn’t breathe. I was in disbelief that this woman, whom I trusted with my son, could do such a thing. My little one, my joy, shut away in a room like a prisoner, alone with his tears and fears! At that moment, something inside me broke.
Immediately, I called my husband, my voice shaking with anger and hurt. I told him everything. He was horrified but initially tried to defend his mother: “She couldn’t have… This must be a misunderstanding.” But when he sat down with Alex, saw his tear-streaked face, and heard the same words, his doubts vanished. His expression turned to stone from the shock.
We went to Carol’s house. She greeted us with familiar aloofness, but when I directly asked why she’d locked our son away, her calm facade shattered. She snapped:
“He doesn’t know how to behave! Such a spoilt child! I was merely trying to teach him some manners!”
I shook with anger, barely restraining myself from shouting:
“Teach him?! By locking him in a room? Frightening him to tears? Do you think that’s acceptable?!”
She remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. My husband looked at her with a pain and disappointment I had never seen before. That day we decided: Alex would never cross her doorstep again. My husband attempted to maintain some contact with his mother, but I couldn’t. Forgiving her? That was beyond me. No one has the right to treat my child that way.
Time passed. Alex became himself again—laughing, playing, unafraid of every sound. And I learned a lesson I will carry forever: if a child cries for no apparent reason, there is always a reason. Hidden deep but real. It is our duty to find it, to protect, even if it means standing against those we once trusted. I will never again leave my son in the hands of someone who does not see him as the treasure he is.
