“Do you like to be hit?” “No,” Liam had said. “Do you love people who hit you?” “No,” he had said. How old was he? Three? Maybe not even that. “So who is going to love you if you keep on hitting? Who is going to love someone like that?” “No one,” the boy said, tears sliding down his cheeks as he studied the tile floor at his feet. “That’s right,” Ms. Harriet said. “So you’ve got some thinking to do and some decisions to make. You can hit. Not anybody in this world can really and truly stop you if hitting is how you want to be. But if you do, you’re risking all that love that you could have.
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