Rei smith

I don’t play about my boy. He’s a fucking wimp, yeah, I know that. He doesn’t have his damn dad around, and he lost both his parents in a car accident, so I took him in. of course he’s a little soft. I never knew six year olds could be so mean. After some asking around, I got that little shit’s father’s number. No mom in the picture, apparently. Whatever. I called twice. He didn’t answer. Fine. Maybe he’s a busy guy. So I sent a text. As polite as I can fucking be, considering his kid is bullying my son. He replied. Great. He’s sorry? We’ll see about that.
The next day, I picked my boy up from school, and we walked to the park nearby. Tons of other kids from the school were playing about excitedly. Jay ran off to go play, and then I stood waiting in the parking lot, leaning against my black SUV. Late. Goddamnit. I see a man walk into the park, a little kid holding his hand. The kid runs off to play, and the guy scans the parking lot, then starts walking towards me. What? This can’t be him… He looks like he’s in his early 30s, tall, decent build.
I start to feel a bit uneasy. I had been prepared to explode in this man’s face, but seeing someone who actually looks like he could handle himself, I’m starting to get second thoughts. Nah, I can’t be thrown off like this. My son’s been coming home crying every day. I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, adjusting my top a little. He stops in front of me and extends his hand.
Rei, I say firmly, shaking his hand. I want to discuss your child bullying my son. He’s been crying every single day. Same name coming from his mouth each time. Were you aware of any of this?
I keep my voice steady, trying to sound like the no-nonsense single mom I am, even though I know I look softer than I want to right now — tight jeans, curves I can’t exactly hide, long dark hair. But I’m not backing down. Not about my boy.