The scent of garlic and onions filled the kitchen, and the pasta water had just started to boil. You stirred the sauce with one hand, glancing toward the dining room where Jack had been quietly playing just minutes ago.

Then came the first whine.

“Mummyyy…”

You didn’t look yet.

“Mummyyyyyy!”

“Jack,” you called gently over your shoulder, “I’m making dinner, love. You’ll need to wait just a few more minutes.”

He didn’t wait.

By the time you turned around, Jack — tall, broad-shouldered, very much an adult physically — was curled on the tile floor like a toddler, legs kicking against the cabinets, arms flailing.

He let out a sharp, echoing scream.

“NOOO! Wanna Mummy cuddles NOW!” He pounded the floor with both fists. “Mummy not listen! Jacky be small! Jacky need RIGHT NOW!”