I watched my son down the rest of his drink. He looked like a man drowning. A week later, he called me, his voice cracking. “Honestly, Mom… parenting is harder than I thought. When he screams like that, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I just want it to stop.”

Then came the visit from Jennifer, alone, three days ago. She sat on my floral sofa, twisting a handkerchief in her hands, her eyes welling with tears.

“Carol, I need to talk to you,” she whispered. “It’s Michael. He’s been… cold. He won’t hold Ethan. Yesterday, when the baby cried, Michael yelled at him to shut up. He said, ‘I’m scared of what I might do.’”