“She said to let her out when she roars,” Kelsie continued nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. My eyes widened, disbelief mingling with anger. How could she not see how wrong this was?
“Kelsie,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady but firm, “this is not okay. You don’t lock kids in cages, no matter what game they’re playing.”
For a moment, Kelsie’s expression didn’t change. It was like she didn’t quite understand the gravity of what she’d done. Then, as if finally aware of my panic, she put down her phone and walked towards us.
“Ellie,” I whispered as I knelt down, fumbling with the latch to free her. “It’s okay, honey. You’re not a tiger anymore. You’re safe.”
As soon as the door swung open, Ellie scrambled into my arms, her little body shaking against mine. I held her tight, whispering reassurances into her hair as she clung to me like a lifeline. Her brother shuffled closer, his big eyes watching us silently.
Kelsie stood there, awkward and unsure, the realization of her poor judgment slowly dawning on her. “I’m really sorry,” she said finally, her voice small. “I didn’t mean for it to go so far. I truly thought they were just pretending.”
I took a deep breath, trying to temper my response. “Pretend is fine, Kelsie, but safety comes first. Always. You have to know when to step in. That’s your job.”
She nodded, looking genuinely contrite. “I understand. I’ll never do it again. I’m really sorry, Mrs. Taylor. I’ll leave if you want.”
I glanced down at Ellie, who was still snuggling into my shoulder, and then over at her brother, who had settled in beside us on the floor, one hand gripping my sleeve. I didn’t want to make a hasty decision in the heat of the moment, but trust was essential, and right now, it was broken.
“I think it’s best if you go,” I said, trying to keep my voice firm but not unkind. “I appreciate the apology, but I need to know my kids are safe.”
Kelsie nodded, gathering her things quickly and heading for the door with another murmured apology. Once she was gone, the house felt quieter, the tension slowly ebbing away. I turned back to my kids, who were still watching me with wide eyes.
“Hey, you two,” I said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Ellie’s face. “How about we do something fun? Like making a fort with blankets instead?”
Ellie perked up at that, her earlier distress slowly dissolving. “Can we?” she asked, her voice hopeful. Her brother’s face lit up too, and he nodded enthusiastically.
“Of course,” I smiled, touching each of their noses with a playful tap. “And this time, no cages. Just pillows and blankets. Deal?”
“Deal!” they chorused, their earlier ordeal already fading as they eagerly ran to fetch the materials for our new project.
Watching them, I felt a wave of relief washing over me. We’d get past this. Together. And next time, I’d be a lot more careful about who I trusted with my children. Because at the end of the day, they were all that mattered.
