I walked into my house and found my 7-year-old sobbing, clutching her knees on the couch. Her cheeks were red, streaked with tears. My heart dropped.
“What happened, sweetheart?” I rushed over, brushing her hair from her face.
Between ragged sobs, Ember cried, “UNCLE STAN THREW AWAY ALL MY TOYS!”
I froze. “What?” Surely, she couldn’t mean all of them.
She pointed toward the backyard with a shaking finger. “THE TRASH.”
I ran outside, and my stomach twisted. Every toy, every stuffed animal, every doll I’d seen her play with for years—her whole little world—was jammed into the trash bins. Some were sticking out of black garbage bags, others half-buried under kitchen scraps.
The sight made me dizzy.
I stormed back inside, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Stan was lounging on the small couch in our bedroom, controller in hand, eyes glued to his video game. He didn’t even look up.
I yanked the controller from his hands and switched off the TV. “WHY. DID. YOU. THROW. AWAY. MY. DAUGHTER’S. TOYS?” I hissed.
He leaned back, completely calm, as though I were overreacting. “Relax, babe. She’s seven. She doesn’t need all that junk cluttering up the house. I’m teaching her not to be spoiled.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Those were her memories. Her comfort. Her childhood, Stan!”
He shrugged. “If she’s going to live under my roof, she needs to learn discipline. Besides—when we have kids, I don’t want her setting a bad example with her… hoarding.”
The room tilted. My daughter’s tearful face flashed in my mind, the way she’d whispered to me after the divorce that her toys made her feel safe when everything else felt scary.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” I said, my voice shaking. “You’re not her father. And after this? You’ll never be.”
Stan sat up straighter, scoffing. “You’re seriously overreacting—”
“No, Stan. You threw away my daughter’s happiness. You don’t touch her things. You don’t break her heart to ‘teach a lesson.’ You don’t get another chance.”
I grabbed Ember’s hand, pulled her close, and walked out.
That night, with my ex-husband’s help, we dug through the trash and salvaged as many toys as we could. Some were ruined, but Ember clung to the ones we saved like they were treasures.
And as for Stan?
I called off the engagement.
Because I’d rather be single forever than spend one more day with a man who thought “discipline” meant destroying my child’s joy.