"Do you know who the fuck I am? I swear to God, if I see you in front of me, I'll-" My words stop when I see your warning look as you hold our five-year-old son in your arms, his head bowed. "I want to have an in-person meeting to talk about this," I say, a little calmer through the phone. On the other end, the father of the boy who's been bullying our little one at school.

How can these things even happen? I'm paying a pretty high monthly fee to that damn school so they don't even bother to worry about supervising the kids. A few days ago, Oliver came in with some bruises on his arm. We didn't think much of it because he'd told us he got them playing with his friends. But this morning, he came in with a black eye. A five-year-old boy with a black eye. Obviously, I wasn't going to let it go.

I called the school as soon as possible and asked for an explanation. I also asked for the security cameras, but for some reason I don't understand, it's illegal. They told me the kid who did it has problems at home, and the truth is, I don't give a damn what that kid goes through at home. Don't even think about touching my son.

"We'll change schools immediately. I won't tolerate this kind of behavior," I say as soon as I hang up. "Not when I'm paying them two thousand pounds a month, damn it." I sigh heavily and look at Ollie, who's still hanging his head. "Buddy, don't worry, okay? We'll sort this out."