I rushed over, grabbed his arm, and blurted out:
“Sir, where did the kids and teachers go?
My son is sick—I got a call from the teacher!”
The guard, seeing how frantic I was, pointed me toward the gymnasium.
I thanked him and ran.
But when I reached the sports area, the gate was locked.
Two unfamiliar men stood guard, yellow caution tape strung up behind them.
“Sorry, ma’am. There’s a private closed training session going on. No one’s allowed inside.”
“Private training? I’m a parent! My son is in there! He has a heart condition—let me in or he could die!”
My voice was shaking as I tried to push past them.
One man shoved me back.
“Rules are rules. If you keep this up, don’t blame us for getting rough.”
A surge of fury overrode my fear.
I spotted a lower section of the fence nearby, scrambled up using some boxes as a foothold, and leapt over as the men shouted behind me.
I sprinted toward the sports field.
The closer I got, the louder the noise—cheering, barking, and faint sobs.
At the entrance to the field, I ran straight into Ms. Collins, the class supervisor.
Her face flickered with panic before she plastered on a fake smile.
“Mrs. Foster, what are you doing here?”
“There’s a closed training session going on. You can’t go in.”
I glared at her, my voice cold.
“Where is my son?”
“He has a heart condition. If anything happens to him today, you’ll pay for it!”
Ms. Collins feigned confusion.
“What are you talking about? I know Emma can’t do strenuous activities—I told him to rest in the nap room.”
She reached for my arm, but I yanked free and kept running.
“Mrs. Foster! You’ll disrupt the other children!”
Her tone sharpened, threatening.
“Think about Emma’s reputation—he still has to make friends here!”
I spun around, all the fear and rage inside me boiling over.
My palm cracked across her face.
“If my son gets hurt, none of you will get away with this!”
Ms. Collins stood frozen, clutching her cheek.
I broke free and rushed toward the crowd gathered near the center of the field, craning my neck to see.
The sight made my blood run cold.
In the middle of the field, a temporary circular pen had been set up.
Inside, a massive Rottweiler was chasing Emma, barking furiously.
My son’s face was ghostly pale, his lips turning blue.
His little legs were stumbling, barely holding him upright.
Sweat soaked his clothes, and his tiny chest heaved as he tried to keep running.