Split Parents Fear for Kids’ Safety

It’s all happy times when it’s going her way. It’s all smiles and laughter when I’m buying her the latest designer accessory or taking her to the newest restaurant opening with the full VIP experience. But the minute she gets a drink into her, she becomes this distorted, unrecognisable villain that spares no-one or nothing from her horrendous rampages. Not even our precious children; symbols of a simpler time, when our love was genuine and strong and our wallets empty – not even our own flesh and blood are excluded from her horror.

She spits insults like magma, exploding unfiltered from her mouth as if they had been bubbling away for years; like magma in a volcano, ready and waiting for the right combination of chemicals and minerals to ignite the thoughts and catapult them from the firing line.

If I had told you, you would have never believe me. And why would you? No, this was something you would have to witness first hand. And once you did, you would pray you didn’t. But the memory would be burned in your mind’s eye. Just like me, if you ever saw, you would never be able to forget the image of a mother abusing her own children. Words that cannot be unsaid, cannot be taken back, hurled at her own offspring and shattering across their faces. I swear I can see their life, their character, their hopes, floating away, like precious gas leaking through a balloon with a hole, and I can never seem to catch it all and replace it. I can never restore it all to where it all belongs.

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