My mother locked my eight-year-old daughter in a storage room for two days—no food, no water, all because of a toy her precious grandson wanted. When I finally forced the door open, she collapsed into my arms and whispered, “Mommy… I was so scared.” I turned to my mother, shaking with rage, and she still had the nerve to say, “It was just discipline.” She thought she was protecting her favorite child. She had no idea what I was about to do next.

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“Where’s Ava?” I asked.

My mother didn’t even look up. “She’s being punished.”

A cold knot tightened in my chest. “Punished for what?”

Ethan glanced at my mother, then down at the brand-new remote-control truck in his lap. I recognized it immediately. It was Ava’s birthday gift. I had saved for three weeks to buy it.

“She wouldn’t share,” my mother said flatly. “She shoved Ethan and acted like a spoiled brat.”

“That’s Ava’s toy,” I snapped. “Where is my daughter?”

My mother finally met my eyes, calm and annoyed, like I was the one making a scene. “In the storage room out back. She needs to learn respect.”

I stared at her, not understanding at first. “What do you mean, out back?”

“She’s fine,” she said. “Don’t be dramatic.”