The moment I said “no”, I could see her eyes darken. I knew what would come next, and my brain quickly strategized of a way out of the store. Unfortunately, the lines were long, and it would take me at least 30 minutes to purchase the grocery items overflowing out of our cart. I couldn’t abandon the cart. I needed the items. I wouldn’t have time to come back. I also refused to give into the demands for candy of my three year old. So, resolute, I decided we would stay in the store and weather the coming storm.

Moments after my Declaration of Independence from the tyranny of my toddler, she had finished calculating her own strategy of attack. With the precision of a trained voice actor, she set her scream at a pitch and timbre that was impossible to ignore. Every eye turned to her, and now, as hoped, she had an audience.

She flung her arms into the air and fell effortlessly on the dirty tile floor. “I’m starving!” she wailed. “I need food! Please! Please!” She grabbed at her stomach and curled into a ball, grimacing in feigned pain.

I held my ground, my face red from embarrassment. “Stay calm and unemotional,” I recited inwardly. “We will have a snack at home, but no candy in the store.” I tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible.

Something like rage flashes in her eyes, and she jumped up off the ground. “I will not! I will not! I will not!” She sang, in increasing volume. She took off running down the aisle behind us, like a gymnast about to jump on the vault. Looking back, she saw I hadn’t moved, and she ran back to me, seemingly frustrated that, in all her anger, she was also scared to be lost in the store.

She buried her face into my jeans and screamed into them in a rage, then collapsed into embarrassed sobs. I gathered her up in my arms and hugged her tightly.

In a motion of pity and empathy, the women in front of us offered for us to go ahead of her. I gratefully accepted and rushed to put our items on the conveyor belt.

As we gathered out bags back into the cart and moved towards the cashier handed my daughter a large lollipop and winked. My daughter grabbed it, triumphant. “Thanks,” I murmured, trying to offer a kind smile, but inwardly knowing my daughter’s tantrum just got rewarded by this well-meaning stranger. I took a deep breath and bolted out the door.