He stood up abruptly and walked over to her. My daughter looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes, but instead of the tender playfulness I was used to seeing, his expression was stern and cold. He scolded her for making a mess, his voice louder than I’d ever heard when speaking to her before. She flinched, visibly shaken, and I could see the fear in her eyes.
As he continued to raise his voice, accusing her of being a “bad girl,” my heart ached for her. She began to whimper, reaching out for a hug, but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. It was the kind of rejection that could break a child’s spirit. The scene was unbearable to watch, and it pained me to think that my husband, the man I loved, could be so harsh with our little girl.
