I came home from work to see my husband dangling our baby over the balcony, screaming, “Do as I say, or I’m dropping him.”
I stared at our eight-month-old, Rowan, being held over the railing by his ankle. He was screaming, his face turning a terrifying shade of blue as the blood rushed to his brain. I dropped my purse, and a primal scream tore from my throat. “Silas! What are you doing?”
![]()

