Will threw his two-year-old body violently on the floor. I told him it was time to go “home”.

Home to Will is a dirty hell hole where his mother, four men with warrants out for their arrests, and a senile pit bull live. Mom scrapes up dog poop off the carpet into the kitchen trash can. The window sills serve as an ashtray. Will has no clean clothes, and eats whatever he can find.

It breaks my heart because I sure as hell didn’t raise his mother that way.

I strapped down my somber grandchild in the car seat. But the closer we got to the destination, the more I questioned myself. Is this the right thing to do? I turned around. My daughter would never forgive me. But I would never forgive her if something happened to Will.

We arrived at the office of Child Protective Services. This was the last day I would stand idle while my daughter abused Will.