My husband died protecting the border. I took our three-year-old son on a train to bring his ashes home. My son couldn’t hold back his quiet sobs. The couple next to us exploded. “Can’t you control your brat child?!” They snatched my son, dragged him to the bathroom to punish him, slapping him, and even filmed it. They sneered: “His dad died? ” “So no one to teach him? We’ll do it!” Along with the video, the news of my husband’s heroic sacrifice trended online. The military command was furious, and the entire internet erupted! My three-year-old son clung tightly to my arm, sobbing softly. “Mommy, they said I’ll never see Daddy again. What does that mean?” “Aren’t we going to bring Daddy home this time?” I stroked his head, my own eyes welling up with tears. Yesterday, General Thompson himself called me, informing me that my husband, Major Jake Miller, had died in the line of duty. “Enemy forces secretly crossed the border. He fought bravely to protect his comrades—” The General’s voice choked up. He said they had already bought our train tickets, so we could go say our final goodbyes to Jake. After hanging up, I couldn’t control my emotions and broke down in tears. My three-year-old son didn’t fully understand death, but he seemed to grasp that he might never see his dad again. Leo bit his lip, his little shoulders trembling. “My birthday is next month. Is Daddy not going to send me a toy gun anymore?” Just as I opened my mouth, a young woman in the seat in front of us suddenly stood up, turned around, and yelled at my son, her face contorted with anger: “So noisy! Do you have any manners?!” Leo flinched in fear, instinctively apologizing. She didn’t back down. “Talking nonstop, and now crying endlessly! I’ve been putting up with you two for ages!” I gripped my son’s hand tightly. “I’m sorry, we’ll be more careful.” Leo huddled beside me, trembling with fear. The woman glared at him, clenching her fist in warning. “Cry again, and I’ll call the police to take you away!” Leo immediately covered his mouth with both hands and buried himself in my arms. Only then did the woman scoff triumphantly and sit back down. I glanced around the train car. A few rows ahead, a man was loudly scrolling through TikTok videos, laughing heartily as he watched. In the back, two middle-aged women were passionately gossiping about their family issues. Before leaving with Leo, I had specifically told him not to be loud on the train. So, we both spoke softer than usual. Many people were louder than us, but this woman didn’t say a word to anyone else, only glaring at my son and me. I felt uneasy. But when you’re out alone, especially with such a young child, it’s not worth getting into an argument. It wouldn’t be good for Leo. I softly comforted my son. “Why don’t you try to sleep for a bit?” Leo covered his mouth, his eyes red, and shook his head. “I can’t stop thinking about Daddy. I’m still so sad.” Both of us were deliberately lowering our voices, almost whispering, so quietly you’d barely hear us if you weren’t actively listening. Suddenly, the woman in front flared up again. “Are you kidding me? Does this mom ever shut up?!” She walked over directly, stood next to our row of seats, and viciously kicked my chair. “Try making another sound, I dare you!” “Mommy, I’m scared!” Leo was so startled by her action that he started to wail. I hugged Leo and couldn’t help but retort: “Miss, we weren’t making noise.” “We’ve been speaking very softly.” The woman screamed, craning her neck: “This isn’t noisy?! He’s crying loud enough to make my head explode!” “You scared him, the child is still young—” “Young, my foot! No matter how little he is, he’s not my kid. Who’s obligated to put up with him?!” “Attendant! Attendant!” Just then, a train attendant appeared at the end of the car. The woman loudly called her over. “This brat won’t stop crying! Do something about him!”
“Little one, stop crying right now!” The attendant, Mia, frowned and scolded. I explained: “He wasn’t crying just now. This woman came over and kicked my chair, which scared him—” “Don’t make so many excuses!” The young attendant impatiently cut me off. “I’ve seen plenty of parents like you. Be mindful of others and don’t disturb anyone.” Big tears rolled down Leo’s cheeks. “I’m not a bad kid…” He was timid and usually suffered in silence when wronged. But the accusation of being a “bad kid” shattered him. He couldn’t stop his quiet sobs. “You’re seriously disturbing other passengers. Please take your child to the connecting area between cars to calm him down.” Mia said coldly. The young woman smugly agreed. “Hear that? Now scram!” “Mommy, I’ve been very good, I spoke very quietly…” My son cried, trembling all over. “Mommy knows Leo is the best boy.” I hugged him tightly, my heart aching, and stood up to grab our bag, ready to take him away. But then the young woman suddenly reached out and yanked Leo’s arm! “I told you to scram, why are you dawdling?!” Her long, pointed nail dug viciously into Leo’s delicate skin, instantly leaving a red, bruised mark. “Mommy, it hurts so much!” Leo cried out in pain. I immediately slapped her hand away. “What are you doing?! Let go of my son!” My strength wasn’t great, but the woman let out an exaggerated shriek. “You dare to hit me?! Chad!” From the front, a tall man with dyed blonde hair and a skull ring on his finger stood up. His face red with fury, he rushed over and slapped me hard across the face. “You filthy bitch! How dare you touch my girlfriend!” He swung his hand again, then grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the seat back. I saw stars, my cheek cut by his ring, blood beginning to seep. And in my arms, Leo had been snatched away by the woman! She grabbed the child by the neck with one hand and dragged him forward, walking quickly. “You don’t want to teach your kid, huh? No wonder his dad’s gone, leaving such a badly behaved kid! I’ll teach him for you!” I tried to chase, but the punk held me back by my hair, dragging me back to the seat. “What are you doing? Still trying to chase her and hit her?” “Let go of me! She snatched my child!” My eyes were burning with urgency. “She’s helping you teach your kid out of kindness, and you’re not grateful? You don’t know what’s good for you!” The punk forcefully pressed down on my shoulders. I struggled desperately, pleading with Mia: “Are you just going to watch him hit me? Call the police! Someone’s stealing my child!”
Mia pursed her lips. “He’s just holding you down. I didn’t see him hit anyone.” The two women from the front rows couldn’t stand it anymore. “Her face is bleeding! How can you lie with a straight face?!” “Let her go!” Mia’s expression finally changed. “Maybe I wasn’t paying attention… I’ll go call the police.” She then slowly pushed her service cart and walked away. I seized the opportunity to push the punk away and sprinted forward. From the bathroom at the end of the car, Leo’s piercing cry rang out: “Mommy, help me—” I rushed to the door and pounded on it. “Come for me! Open the door, let my son out!” Inside, the young woman’s curses could be heard: “Don’t you dare cry! Cry again and I’ll beat you to death!” The train bathroom’s metal door was very sturdy, unmoving. I pleaded with the surrounding passengers to call the police, but the punk followed me, glaring menacingly. “I’d like to see who dares interfere! My girlfriend is just helping him teach his son a lesson. If a brat is so noisy, the police will side with us!” Some passengers in the front car, not knowing the full truth, even agreed, saying they hated unruly children and a little scare was good. “My son is not a bad kid!” I cried out, pounding on the door. At that moment, Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Clark squeezed over. “Miss, is this child in the video your son?” I looked down and gasped. In the video, Leo was cowering in the corner, a hand with long, manicured nails grabbing his chin, forcing him to face the camera: “Say it! Your dad’s an Monster, and your mom’s a slut!” Leo’s face was red with finger marks, and he cried out: “My daddy is a hero!” “Ptooey!” A mouthful of spit landed on his face. The woman tightened her grip. “You lying brat!” Only then did I realize it was a live stream. The top of the screen read: “Train passenger losing it over noisy kid, live-streaming to teach him a lesson!” The comment section was filled with cheers, and some doubts, the chat a chaotic mess. The woman excitedly grabbed my son’s face and slammed his head back. “You little punk, speak up!” Thump! Leo’s face turned pale. My heart ached with intense pain. I cried out, pounding on the door: “Stop it!” “Quick, say your parents are trash!” The woman pressed his cheek against the wall. Leo’s face was ashen, but he stubbornly shouted: “Mommy said my daddy is a big hero! And I wasn’t noisy!” His tears poured down, which only enraged the woman further. She sneered, turning the camera to the trash can next to the squat toilet. “Not going to say it, huh? Lying brats get their mouths wiped with toilet paper!” With that, she picked out a piece of used toilet paper with brownish-yellow stains. Through the screen, I could almost smell the stench. I screamed in agony: “You can’t do this! Open the door!” Leo also cried in terror. “Don’t wipe my mouth with poop! It’s disgusting!” He had always been a clean child. Now, his face was pressed against a public toilet wall, a dirty piece of paper shoved in front of him. He cried out in fear, eyes shut: “Mommy, please help me—” The woman grew even more excited. “Oh, you think it’s dirty, do you? Then hurry up and say your parents are both trash and scum, and you won’t have to use this paper, how about that?”
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