I got him the best tutors. Enrolled him in the best classes. Sacrificed everything for him.
But as he grew, something twisted.
Despite the fact that I was the one who was always there—he became disrespectful. He rolled his eyes at my rules. He snapped at me. He threw tantrums whenever he didn't get his way.
Yet he looked at his father—the man who barely knew him—with absolute adoration.
*Boys are just closer to their fathers,* I told myself. *It's a phase.*
Until that night.
---
It was 9:00 PM. I had just finished the housework, my back aching. My son was sprawled on the sofa, watching TV, a bag of potato chips in his hand.
"Go wash up and get to bed. You have kindergarten tomorrow."
He ignored me.
My husband sat next to him, scrolling on his phone, equally deaf to my voice.
"I said go to bed." My voice rose.
My son suddenly hurled the bag of chips across the room.
"I know! You're so annoying! All you do is nag, nag, nag!"
"Can you stop *controlling* me?"
Chips exploded over the sofa I had just vacuumed. Crumbs scattered everywhere.
The string that had been holding me together finally snapped.