They rarely used it except for storage and a small media room.
He descended slowly.
In the far corner, Charlotte sat at a child-sized desk. Papers were scattered everywhere. Vanessa stood over her.
“No, Charlotte. That’s wrong. Do it again.”
“I can’t,” Charlotte whimpered. “My hand hurts.”
“You’re four. You should write your full name neatly by now. Again.”
Alex’s stomach turned.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
Vanessa spun around, startled. “Alex? You’re home early.”
Charlotte jumped from her chair and ran to him. “Daddy! She makes me write all day.”
“All day?” His voice was tight.
“Since you leave. If it’s messy, I have to start over.”
On the table were dozens of sheets. Charlotte’s small, shaky attempts at writing “Charlotte Bennett” over and over. In red pen, Vanessa had written “Incorrect” and “Try Again.”
“You’ve been keeping her down here?” Alex asked, barely containing his anger.
“I’m teaching her,” Vanessa snapped. “She’s behind. Other children can already write perfectly.”
“She’s four.”
“She needs discipline.”
Charlotte clung to him, trembling.
“How long?” Alex asked quietly.