The Warning Signs
I started watching.
Max had no issues with anyone else—neighbors, delivery drivers, other kids. But with Carol, his behavior flipped. One day, I caught her reaching into her purse while the kids played nearby. Max leapt up so suddenly he knocked over a lamp, barking furiously. Her bag spilled open—lavender oil, she claimed, to calm the children.
But something in my gut clenched.
I started keeping a log. Dates, behaviors, incidents. The tension grew. Every visit from Carol left Max wired, the kids agitated, and me doubting my own instincts.
Then came the day I wish I could forget.
