Every night, after a story and once the light is out, we debrief the day.
The minutia is painstaking.
‘So I woke up…’
Mostly it’s about the inferior quality of school jacket potatoes or Pokemon Chat but, occasionally, he slips in small details that make me have to still my breath and battle my instincts.
‘A boy in the park asked if I wanted to fight’
‘ I said no and he called me pathetic’
‘So I ran away’
Under the warmth of his duvet and the glow of his nightlight I imagine this bully and I rip my claws in to their face and tear hunks of flesh from his spineless body and roar at the thundering sky.
Instead, I smooth back my son’s hair and run the back of my fingers over his silk cheek.
‘You did the right thing, my boy’