**Diary Entry**
When Emily brought little Oliver home from nursery, I could tell straight away something was off. The way she fidgeted and avoided my eyessomething had rattled her.
“Whats wrong, love?” I asked, feeling my own pulse quicken.
“Somethings happened, James,” she said, gripping my wrist and pulling me into the kitchen, away from Ollies curious ears. “Theyre threatening to kick him out of nursery.”
“What?” My stomach dropped. “How? We pay the fees on time!”
“I dont know the rules, but the headmistress pulled me asidesaid if we dont get him under control, hell be out faster than a popped balloon.”
“Those exact words?”
“Word for word. Quietly, mind you, so no one else heard. But she was clear. Said other parents are drafting a complaint. To social services, even.”
“Social services?” I couldnt wrap my head around it. Our boy? Sweet, grinning Ollie? “But why?”
“Because hes hitting the other children.”
“Ollie?” I almost laughed, then caught myself. “Hes barely big enough to lift his backpack!”
“Oh, hes doing it alright,” Emily hissed. “Walloping them, apparently!”
“Even the girls?”
“I didnt ask!” She pressed her hands to her temples. “The moment she said it, I panicked. Grabbed him and bolted. But James, if they expel him, what then? One of us would have to quit work. The mortgagehow would we?”
“Hold on, dont spiral yet,” I cut in. “First, we need to understand whats got into him.”
“I asked him on the walk home. Clammed up, just puffed his cheeks like a sulky chipmunk.”
“You asked. Now its my turn.”
Upstairs, Ollie was sprawled on his rug, pushing a toy lorry back and forth as if the world hadnt just tilted.
“Right, mate,” I said, firm. “We need to talk.”
“Mmhm,” he mumbled, not looking up.
“Proper talk. Put the lorry down.”
“James, be gentle!” Emily called from the doorway.
“Yeah, Daddy, be gentle,” Ollie parroted, grinning.
“Tell us the truthwhy are you hitting kids at nursery?”
His little hands froze mid-push. He wouldnt meet my eye.
“Do you hit the girls too?”
“No,” he muttered. “Girls dont count.”
“So just the boys, then? And whatve they done to deserve it?”
He scowled, glancing between us. “What if its a secret?”
The look in his eyesso solemn, so woundedalmost made me falter. But I pressed on. “Listen, son. No secrets between us, yeah?”
“With you, maybe,” he grumbled. “Not Mummy.”
Emily gasped. “Oliver James! You keep things from me?”
“‘Smen stuff,” he mumbled.
“Ah. Men stuff.” I winked at Emily. “Best leave us to it, love.”
She huffed but retreated, shooting me a warning glare.
“Right,” I whispered, crouching low. “Out with it. Why the walloping?”
Ollie sighed, staring at his knees. “They hug her.”
“Who hugs who?”
“The boys. Miss Abigail.”
“The nursery assistant?” My eyebrows shot up.
“She pats their heads, and they cuddle her. Really tight.”
“And?”
“Its not fair.”
“Because…?”
“Because shes sposed to be mine!” he burst out. “When Im big, Im marrying her! And theythey just!”
Ah. The penny dropped. “So youre… sweet on Miss Abigail?”
He nodded, bottom lip wobbling.
“And jealous?”
“You get jealous of Mummy!” he shot back.
“Me? Dont be daft.”
“You do! Ive heard you!”
Blimey. Outmanoeuvred by a four-year-old. “Look, mate, jealousys a nasty business. Runs in the familyyour granddad was the same. But you cant go thumping lads over it, or youll get booted out. Then youll never see her again.”
His eyes widened. “Never?”
“Never. And listenMiss Abigails job is to hug all the kids. Its the rules.”
“Rules?”
“Swear on my cricket bat. If she doesnt, shell get sacked. Then poofgone.”
He chewed his lip. “So… she has to?”
“Exactly. Even the kisses.”
“Ugh.” He flopped back, considering this grave injustice. “Well… fine. But I might not marry her now. Depends.”
Not another complaint came after that.
**Lesson learned:** Love makes fools of us alleven knee-high ones with a penchant for lorries. And sometimes, the only way out of a tantrum is to speak their language. Even if that language involves imaginary weddings and workplace regulations.
