This is absolutely preposterous.

We’re currently in the headmasters office of our daughter’s private school, you sat next to me while we look across the oak table at the other set of the parents.

The parents of our daughters bully.

Our 7 year old daughter, Charlotte, is the sweetest little girl you could think of. She’s my little angel, and when you got pregnant I vowed to guard her with my life.

So when our darling girl came home all sniffly with a bruise on her cheek, and we discovered that it was the result of some bully shoving her on the playground? I was ready to damn near burn the whole academy down. But you insisted we handle it like adults and just get the school involved, saying that they would take care of it.

Yet we’ve been here 45 minutes and the little shit’s parents are only proving where he got his behavior from.

So far, I’ve managed to stay calm, keeping mostly quiet while you do all the talking. But eventually, after one too many crude remarks and snide comments, I’ve had quite enough.

“Do you even know who I am?” I cut off the boy’s father’s rambling, shooting him a cold glare that would be lethal if looks could kill.