A young boy sat on a table, drawing on a sheet of white paper.
Line after line, he drew a cake with eight candles on top of it. A name appeared on the cake: Ricky.
Drops of water fell little by little on the cake, yet no sound, apart from his mother humming in another room and the pencil rubbing on the paper, could be heard.
Ricky finished his drawing and kept staring at it.
His eyes were red and frowning. Although he didn't want to cry, he couldn't stop himself. The memory of his eighth birthday haunted him.
Sounds of footsteps from far to near broke the relative peace of the situation. A 20-something man entered the kitchen. He looked at the boy and sighed with exasperation.
"Why are you crying again? Stop with the pretending. You ruined your birthday; no one else did."
"Stop it, Marty, you know it wasn't on purpose. He can't control himself."
The mother of the boy came out of the room next door. She heard her husband's reprimand and came to defend her son.
"How many excuses are you going to give him, Mia?" Marty argued, exasperated, "He destroyed his cake, threw a chair at the table, injured two kids, and nearly blinded your best friend. All of that because a kid said that his cake was ugly? What the fuck is wrong with you? For years, I told you that the kid needed discipline, and you said it was normal for boys to get crazy sometimes. I listened to you. You said there might be a problem and he needed to see a doctor; I went with you to one. He was unprofessional; we went to several others. Finally, we found one you can boss around; you should be happy, right? No. You said he needed to get medication, so I went and paid for it. Three years. For a whole three years. And nothing changed. I tried to please you and HIM, but nothing worked. He goes crazy, and when he calms down, he acts like someone bullied him."
"He has autism, he has difficulty controlling..." Mia tried to explain between two sobs.
"Yeah, I know, he has difficulty controlling his emotions. I know, Mia. I was there when the doctor gave you the diagnosis you wanted. I was there every time, Mia. I was with you when the other doctors told you discipline would go a long way to help him. I was also there when they said we might need therapy, and when I agreed, you blew up at everyone. I did everything I could for this family; I am tired."
"Marty."
"No, you need to listen. I cannot keep living my life this way. Ricky needs to stop playing the victim when he is the perpetrator..."
"He is just a little boy."
"HE IS DANGEROUS. He acts out and receives no consequences for his actions. When I tried to put him in a timeout, you rushed out to save him like I am the enemy."
"Mar..."
"Stop. Stop. Stop." The little boy crushed his drawing and threw his pencil before lunging at his father and hitting him with all his strength.
"Ricky, it's okay, baby. It's okay." Mia tried to pry the little boy from his father.
He struggled with all his strength until his elbow connected with her face. She let go. Blood gushed out of her nose.
Marty felt anger and panic. He pushed Ricky away from him. He used too much strength, and the boy fell hard on the ground.
"Ricky!" Mia rushed to her son. She glared at Marty, "How could you? he is just a kid!"
Marty held his head and screamed. "Enough! I can't do this anymore!"
He sat down on the floor and burst into tears. He had tried to make sense to his family many times, but not anymore. He was exhausted.
Mia only cast him reproachful glances as she comforted Ricky. She felt disappointed again in his behavior. Why was he unable to protect his family like a good man would?