The Crown Princes Mother Destroys Her Family on New Years Eve

My maternity leave ended right before New Year's Day, and I returned to the kindergarten. As luck would have it, Ms. Su from the Sprout Class had fallen ill, so Principal Bonnie Randolph assigned me to take over temporarily.

I spent my first day memorizing the names and habits of twenty-two children. The familiar rhythm of tiny voices and sticky fingers settled something restless inside me.

It felt good to be back.

The next morning, I stood at the entrance with the other teachers, wearing my professional smile as we welcomed the children.

That was when I met Caroline James.

Designer labels dripped from her head to toeflashy, loud, impossible to miss. She marched up and practically shoved her son, Jonathan Barber, into my arms.

"You're Ms. Henson, right?" Her gaze raked over me like I was a stain on her Louboutins. "You're new, so you don't understand my Jonathan yet. I need to set a few ground rules."

I blinked. Kept the smile in place. "Please, go ahead."

"First." She ticked off points on manicured fingers, her nails lacquered blood-red. "You will handwrite a five-hundred-word growth diary for Jonathan every single day. It must include hand-drawn illustrations. Hand it directly to me."

*Five hundred words? Hand-drawn?*

"Second, Jonathan's seat must be in the absolute center of the first row. You will personally feed him his meals and water, and assist him with the toilet. Since Jonathan is small, I expect you to kneel while serving him so you're at his level."

My smile was starting to crack at the edges.

"Third, you will answer my calls within three rings. I need to check on Jonathan's status at any moment."

I opened my mouth to respond

She waved a dismissive hand, cutting me off.

"And one point I want to emphasize: for the New Year's Day performance of *Snow White*, my son will play the Prince. The other children can be his servants."

My brows drew together. This was pushing the boundaries of absurdity.

But Caroline wasn't finished.

Her gaze dropped to my chest. Lingered.

Then she pulled a crumpled ten-dollar bill from her designer bag and pinned it directly onto my shirt.

"I heard you just finished maternity leave. Still breastfeeding." Her tone was matter-of-fact, like she was discussing the weather. "Perfect. Jonathan hates cow's milkhe only drinks breast milk. So from now on, you'll serve as Jonathan's wet nurse."

She patted the bill against my chest.

"This ten bucks is your tip. Feed him once every hour. If he doesn't finish his portion, don't expect to clock out on time."

They say extreme anger often manifests as laughter.

I finally understood what that meant.

In all my years as an educator, I had never encountered such a bizarre, entitled *Empress Dowager* of a mother.

Seeing that I hadn't immediately obeyed, Caroline shoved Jonathan's head toward me. "Jonathan, time to eat!"

Reflex took over.

I pushed Jonathan back, set him firmly on the ground, and whipped out my phone.

Record.

"Mrs. Barber." My voice came out cold. Steady. "This is sexual harassment and forced indecency. I can call the police right now."

Caroline froze.

A frown marred her heavy makeup. "I'm just letting my son have a sip of milk. How is that indecency? You teachers are so prissy. And dirty-minded, too!"

Unhurried, I shoved the camera lens directly into her face.

"Mrs. Barber, do you need me to explain the penal code? Forcing a woman to breastfeed your child constitutes sexual harassment and assault. I can sue you."

It wasn't my imagination.

The surrounding teachers cast shocked, approving glances my way.

Caroline's face flushed a deep, angry crimson. Her chest heaved.

I plucked the ten-dollar bill from my shirt and stuffed it back into her bag.

"Mrs. Barber." My tone left no room for negotiation. "Jonathan is a healthy child. Walking into the classroom on his own is good exercise. Furthermore, this is an educational institution, not your personal fiefdom or a wet-nurse station."

I straightened my spine.

"My breast milk is for my daughter. I have zero obligation to feed your son."

Caroline looked like she'd been slapped. Humiliation morphed into rage so fast I could practically see the transformation.

"Letting my son drink your milk is an *honor*!" she shrieked. "Don't be shameless! Even your principal, Bonnie Randolph, has to bow and scrape based on my mood. Who do you think you are? My husband is"

She stopped abruptly.

Gritted her teeth.

Her eyes narrowed into venomous slits. "Even if you don't agree, you *will* agree. Otherwise, I'll make sure you never work in this town again."

Principal Bonnie rushed over, already in damage-control mode. She tugged frantically at my sleeve, whispering, "Ms. Henson, please, just endure it. The school can't afford to offend her..."

Bonnie bowed and bent, apologizing profusely until Caroline's anger finally simmered down enough for her to leave.

During class, Caroline called my phone every ten minutes.

I silenced it immediately.

When I didn't answer, she tagged me incessantly in the parents' group chat, demanding to know why I was ignoring her and whether I had fed Jonathan yet.

I waited until the final activity period to reply with a single, dry message:

*In class. Cannot feed due to regurgitation issues. Is there anything else?*

Then, to shut her up, I sent thirty photos of Jonathanfrom every conceivable angleshowing him uninjured and laughing happily.

There's a saying: *You don't hit a smiling face.*

Clearly, that saying didn't apply to Caroline James.

Seconds later, a call came through. I picked up.

"Ms. Henson, what is this attitude?" she screeched. "I just asked you to feed him some milk, and you're making excuses about regurgitation? You have no sense of responsibility. What kind of teacher are you?"

She paused for a breath, then continued. "It's already ten o'clock. Why haven't you sent me a photo of Jonathan's stool?"

My jaw dropped. "Huh?"

She actually had a hobby like *that*?

"What are you 'huh'-ing for? I monitor his health through his bowel movements. Do you understand?"

As fate would have it, Jonathan needed the toilet right then. I told her to wait, snapped a photo of the result, and sent it to her.

That finally bought me an hour of silence.

I thought I could catch my breath.

I was wrong.

Chaos struck at lunchtime.

While I was tending to another child, Jonathan shoved little Delia Vargas. She fell, her forehead cracking against the floor. A nasty bump swelled immediately.

I pulled Jonathan aside and told him to apologize.

He lifted his chin defiantly. "I'm not wrong! My mom said you're all cheap trash. I can hit whoever I want!"

I tried to reason with him. He was deaf to logic.

I had no choice but to explain the situation in the group chat and address Jonathan's behavior later. I apologized to Delia's mom, admitting my supervision had lapsed, and tagged Caroline.

Surely she would guide her son to admit his mistake.

Instead, her reply came cold and dismissive:

*Why should I apologize? Kids roughhouse. Is it necessary to make such a big deal out of it? If you ask me, that cheap little girl Delia probably provoked my Jonathan. Why else would he hit her?*

My head throbbed. Her logic was so twisted it could turn black into white.

The group chat remained deathly quiet. No one dared to step in.

A few minutes later, Delia's mom messaged me privately, her tone defeated.

*Ms. Henson, forget it. I won't pursue it. Caroline James is unreasonable. If I argue with her, Delia and I will probably end up having to apologize to her.*

Throughout the afternoon, several other parents privately messaged me with the same request:

*Please keep my child far away from Jonathan Barber.*

It seemed the other parents had suffered plenty under Caroline's reign of terror.

I finally understood why Ms. Su had suddenly taken "sick leave."

I turned to look at Jonathan, still throwing a tantrum. I took him firmly by the hand and led him to the corner.

"You can go back to your nap bed when you admit you were wrong."

He stood there for less than ten minutes before his resolve crumbled. Seeing everyone else sleeping, he awkwardly muttered an apology to Delia.

While the children napped, I marched to the principal's office.

I pulled up the surveillance footage of the incident and the screenshots of Caroline insulting Delia in the group chat.

"Bonnie." I skipped the pleasantries. "Jonathan hit a classmate. Caroline isn't just refusing to educate himshe's publicly abusing the victim. Today she forced me to breastfeed and demanded photos of poop. Tomorrow, who knows what she'll want?"

I leaned forward. "If this continues, I can't teach. And I certainly can't guarantee the safety or mental health of the other children."

Bonnie let out a heavy sigh. She looked aged. Helpless.

Finally, she spilled the truth.

Caroline's husband, Caleb Whitney, held a high position in the Department of Education. He was the man who signed off on the kindergarten's annual inspection reviews.

I blinked.

Then a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. *Caleb Whitney?*

"Well," I said, "isn't that a coincidence."

I turned around and sent a quick text message:

*Dad, there's a guy named Caleb Whitney in your unit. What's his family situation like? And his character?*

My dad's reply came quickly:

*He's pretty down-to-earth and hardworking. He's up for a promotion at the end of the year. His wife runs a restaurant business, and he has a daughter in high school. Why do you ask?*

*A daughter in high school.*

I stared at the screen. Jonathan was kindergarten age.

The math didn't add up.

Suddenly, this situation got a whole lot more interesting.

I endured the rest of the day, desperate to send the kids home so I could see my own baby. I had entered this industry because I loved the innocence of children. It took years to realize that not every child has a mother who teaches them right from wrong.

And not every mother is sane.

Just like Caroline James, who was currently pointing a manicured finger in my face again.

"Ms. Henson." She sneered. "I wasted half my day going through your social media feed."

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck looking at the ceiling.

"I found that you love drinking milk tea and eating at nice restaurants. You look very... *happy*." She spat the word like a curse. "As a kindergarten teacher, shouldn't your happiness come solely from caring for the children? When you leave the school, shouldn't you feel empty and pained without them?"

She wasn't done. "And you *travel*! A teacher's duty is to serve the children. After work, you should use that time to improve your caretaking skills, not do these meaningless things. You are being irresponsible!"

Her voice sharpened. "From now on, you are forbidden from posting such things. Do you hear me?"

Truly a masterclass in absurdity.

Fortunately, I now knew exactly what kind of person she wasand what kind of secret she was likely hiding.

There was no need to get angry.

"Thanks for the reminder," I said, my voice dripping with sugary sarcasm. "By your logic, whenever Jonathan isn't in your line of sight, shouldn't you be beating your chest, weeping, and screaming to the heavens in agony?"

A nearby parent couldn't hold it in and let out a loud *pfft* of laughter.

Caroline choked. Her face turned the color of a beet.

I handed Jonathan over to her and smiled sweetly. "You care so much about my personal life. Why not channel that energy into worrying about your son's habit of snatching toys and hitting classmates?"

I leaned in slightly. "After all, parents are a child's most important teachers. Focusing your energy on parenting is far more useful than stalking your son's teacher to see if she drinks milk tea."

Caroline ground her teeth so hard I could hear them creak.

"Fine, Olivia Henson." She hissed. "You actually dare to talk back to me? Do you know who my husband is?!"

Her eyes flashed with malice. "I advise you to show me some respect. Or else, I will make sure you never find work in the education sector again!"

*God, she is stupid.*

After some discreet digging, I'd confirmed my suspicions: Caroline James was nothing more than Caleb Whitney's mistress.

Caleb was a classic social climbera man who had changed his surname just to marry into the prestigious Whitney family and secure a life of luxury. Once his position was solidified, however, he evidently felt the urge to spread his seed elsewhere.

Caroline had no idea that her arrogance was pushing both of them toward a cliff's edge.

I remained silent, handing the other children off to their parents one by one. Mistaking my silence for submission, Caroline smirked.

"If you know you're wrong, then give the Prince role to my son. I'm feeling generous today, so I won't hold a grudge."

I smiled politely. "Sure, as long as Jonathan can pass tomorrow's 'Prince Selection.'"

Her patience snapped. "My son is exceptional. Why not just give it to him directly? Why make this so complicated?"

"It's about fairness to the other children." I kept my voice smooth, pleasant. "If Jonathan is as outstanding as you say, what are you worried about?"

Realizing she wasn't gaining any ground, Caroline glared at me, then spun on her heel and sashayed away, hips swaying with exaggerated arrogance.

The moment she disappeared through the door, the other parents and teachers surrounded me. Thumbs went up. Shoulders relaxed.

"Ms. Henson, you're amazing. You have no idea how much we've suffered because of her these past six months."

"Exactly. If we say anything even remotely fair in the group chat, she jumps down our throats and unleashes a torrent of abuse."

"We tried filing a joint complaint, but her husband buried it. We can't touch her. Ms. Henson, please, you have to help us."

It wasn't that they couldn't touch her.

They were just pushing from the wrong angle.

That night, I sent an announcement to the parents' group chat:

**[New Year's Day is approaching. Time is tight. To ensure fairness, I have organized a 'New Year's Day Role Selection.' Tomorrow, we officially begin testing. We will evaluate three areas: singing, etiquette, and cooperation. All parents are invited to serve as judges.]**

The moment I hit send, Caroline launched her offensive.

**[Caroline: You all better vote for my son as the Prince. If you don't, my Jonathan will make sure your little brats get 'educated' in the future.]**

The parents, emboldened by my earlier stand, ignored her completely. A stream of "Received" responses flooded beneath my message.

Not a single one acknowledged her threat.

Enraged, Caroline flooded the chat with unhinged curses.

With evidence delivered right to my doorstep, I naturally took screenshots of everything.

The next day, the selection began. Every child performed admirably in their chosen rolesuntil it was Jonathan Barber's turn.

It was a disaster.

During the singing segment, he forgot the lyrics and resorted to spitting at the judges. During the etiquette segment, he grabbed a judge's water cup and smashed it on the floor. And during the cooperation segment, when no one wanted to partner with him, he threw himself on the ground and rolled around screaming.

Caroline didn't seem embarrassed in the least. She clapped wildly, shouting, "Jonathan is doing great! Amazing!"

The final vote was brutal.

Jonathan received zero votes.

Another boy, Patrick Martinez, was unanimously elected as the Prince.

Caroline exploded. She slammed her hand onto the table, face contorted with rage.

"Didn't we agree you would all vote for my son?!" she shrieked. "You colluded! My husband is in the Department of Education. Believe it or not, I'll make sure none of your kids ever go to school again!"

I calmly displayed the voting records on the screen. "The selection is public, Jonathan's mom. It's not about who has the loudest voice."

A pause. I let the silence stretch.

"I'm sorry, but Jonathan isn't suitable for the Prince role. However, I can design a special 'Troublemaker' role for him."

Caroline's face went from red to a sickly shade of purple. A trembling finger jabbed toward my nose. "Olivia Henson! You did this on purpose. I won't let you get away with this. Just you wait!"

She stormed out and immediately wrote a report, denouncing me for "abusing Jonathan Barber" and "inciting parents to ostracize a student."

I just didn't expect her tantrum to alarm my father.

I usually kept a low profile, so no one at the kindergarten knew my father held a senior position in the Department of Education.

When Dad called to ask what was happening, I simply told him I would handle it but insisted he attend the New Year's Day performance.

Meanwhile, Caleb Whitney began applying pressure. He demanded I be severely punished and froze the kindergarten's "inclusive subsidy."

Principal Bonnie Randolph was beside herself. She paced her office, wringing her hands. "Ms. Henson, without that subsidy, the school will go bankrupt... Can't you just soften your attitude a little?"

I pulled a thick stack of documents from my bag and looked at Bonnie with a conspiratorial smile. "Principal, I have a way to drag Caroline Jamesand the Caleb Whitney you're so afraid ofdown into the mud. Are you ready to play the long game?"

Her eyes widened. "Wh-what do you plan to do?"

"On the day of the performance," I said icily, "she will personally walk herself into a trap."