I saw you as we entered the store. One child up front in the seat and the older one in the back, standing. I thought to myself: I hate when people do that. I didn’t think much of it after that, after all I’ve seen it so many times now.

I busied myself with my children and our own shopping, I saw you pass by again. You were distracted with the little baby up front while your older boy stood hands-free in the back, to which I winced. As I return my attention to my children and the snowsuits, I heard it.

The unmistakable sound of flesh hitting tile. The thump! of bone meeting a hard surface.

I heard you gasp and loudly whisper: Oh God!

My heart sank.

As you scooped up your son, I resisted the urge to run to you.To scoop you up and tell you that he’s all right. I wanted to bad to say that we’ve all be there at one time or another. To say, it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.

But I did nothing.

I was worried you were about to cry as your voice cracked while inspecting your son for boo boos. I fought so hard not to go to you. If it had been me and a stranger approached? I would have begun bawling; I didn’t want that for you.

As your son buried his face in your neck I wanted so much to sweep up my own offspring into my arms  and shush him too, though he wasn’t even crying, but running around somewhere out of sight.

Let’s go home, you said as you took your child into your arms while he continued to whimper, the younger one starting to cry in the shopping cart.

I busied myself so you didn’t see me watching, thinking I was judging when I most certainly was not. I was feeling for you. I was hurting for you and I was wanting to turn back the clock ever so slightly so I could be there and stop it from happening.

I’m sorry.