Mommy and Daddy chat about you like you’re not even in the room, Daddy calmly explaining how far you’ve slipped and what he’ll be doing to keep you there, his voice full of certainty. You’re on the floor at their feet, drooling around your paci, clumsy crayon marks spilling over the page. You’re not allowed to lift your head, not allowed to speak, just sit there and let their words wash over you… reminding you you’re not in control anymore, and never will be. 🖍️
















