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Father Admits He Let His Wife Beat Their Violent Son, But the Truth Is More Complicated

by Leona Pham
July 23, 2026
in Social Issues

Some family stories are difficult to understand because they exist in a place where love, fear, guilt, and survival all collide.

When a parent reaches a breaking point, the choices they make can leave emotional scars that last for decades.

The original poster (OP) shared a deeply painful story about raising a son whose behavior became increasingly dangerous from a very young age.

Despite years of therapy, medical support, and attempts to help him, OP felt their family was trapped in constant chaos and fear.

Everything changed after one terrifying incident involving his younger daughter, forcing OP and his wife into a decision that would haunt them forever.

Decades later, OP is still questioning whether they did what they had to do or whether they failed their own child.

Scroll down to read the full story and the difficult reactions it received.

Father struggles for years with his troubled son until a terrifying incident changes everything

Father Admits He Let His Wife Beat Their Violent Son, But the Truth Is More Complicated
not the actual photo

'I stood by and allowed my wife to almost k__l our son. I was happy she did it?'

Okay, fair warning, this one is long as hell. Apologies for that, but this is

very hard for me and I have been carrying it for a lot of years. On the advice

of my therapist, I’ve written it all out to try to work out my feelings on it.

He didn’t advise me to submit it to Reddit of course, but I have struggled

with this for a long time, and I need to hear other people’s opinion on it. I

still really have no idea how I feel about it, even after all these years, but I

will submit for judgment by the masses. I know I did wrong on some things,

probably a lot of things. I tried to do my best that I could.

My son was very troubled. VERY troubled. If you have seen the movie "We

Need To Talk About Kevin", it will really help to understand what I'm talking

about, because I swear to God when I watched that film I thought I was

watching a documentary of my life, I felt like the writer must have had

cameras hidden in my damn house, that’s how accurate it was. The only

difference is that in the movie, the boy appears normal to his father and

only reveals his true nature to his mother, with my son he didn’t have that

mask. His insane behavior was the same with everyone.

From the day he was born, my son just came out wrong. He was planned,

my wife and I tried to get pregnant and were ecstatic when he was born. He

was wanted and loved. We showered affection on him and really tried to

give him a happy childhood. But from the day we brought him home from

the hospital, he was miserable. He cried for 13 months straight. I’m not

exaggerating, 13 months without a break, he cried until he had no voice left

and kept crying, you could see his little face scrunched up and no sound

coming out, totally hoarse. There were times he would literally be crying in

his sleep, I’ve never seen or heard of any other kid able to do that. We

brought him to doctors, specialists, tried changing his diet, held him, rocked

him, toys, swaddling, music, mobiles, everything we could think of. Nothing

worked. 13 months of grating, grinding, no sleep hell.

Once he got over the crying stage, we thought we were out of the woods.

But it quickly became clear that for some unknown reason, he was just

angry at being alive. I never saw that kid have a genuine, joyous smile once

in the time I knew him. I saw him grin a vicious, horrible grin many times,

taking a perverse pleasure from causing pain or suffering or breaking a

rule, but a smile from real pleasure at something nice? No, never. Not once.

He had no interest in anything positive; he was fueled by hate, and

everything he did was bent toward that.

 

As soon as he could walk, his mission in life was to destroy things. He would

break or try to break anything that came in his range, smash it, chew it,

throw it in the toilet, whatever he could. After a while he figured out how

to get his diaper off and took great pleasure in shitting and pissing

anywhere he could. After a while he figured out he could hide it, and

started pissing and shitting in places we wouldn’t find right away, grinding

it into carpets making it even more of a problem to clean and making the

house stink. When he got older, (ages 9-15) he would p__s and s__t in our

bed, until we got a lock on our door and he wasn’t able to get in anymore;

then he’d just take a dump in the hallway in front of our room. That

biological warfare started around a 2 and a half years old and he never

grew out of it.

I’ll try to speed it up as I could literally go on for days about this stuff, but as

he grew older, he became more and more unmanageable. He would bite,

kick, scream, scratch and spit at anyone trying to do anything with him. He

was kicked out of school twice before he was 9, then let him back in and

then kicked him out for good, he had to change schools. The next one put

him in a special class that kept him away from the other students. We had

to install a door and lock on the kitchen because he would steal knives and

use them to gouge the walls/furniture or chase people with them. When he

was 10, he stabbed me pretty good in the hip and ass, I still have the scars.

As he grew older, he grew darker. He moved into setting things on fire, and

torturing local animals. There was a stray dog that hung out around the

park near our house, my son blinded it in one eye with a BBQ fork. He

would dip cat’s tails in gasoline and light them on fire. He became a violent,

stinking, vicious beast that lived in our house. We couldn’t do anything with him.

I will take this opportunity to preempt the tsunami of messages: YES, we

had the kid in f__king therapy. He saw a psychiatrist twice a week, and had

god knows how many different medications prescribed to him over the

years. Nothing worked. Therapy didn’t work. Meds didn’t work. Nothing

f__king worked. He was like a poison cloud of hate and fury lashing out at anything in his reach.

When my son was 16, my wife got pregnant again. I can’t tell you how

different our reaction was. Instead of joy, we felt horror. This pregnancy

had not been planned, and we really were at a loss over what to do. My son

had been such an unending nightmare for 16 years, we couldn’t take the

idea of starting again from the beginning. We talked a lot about

terminating, but a) access to a__rtion was not as easy in those days as it is

now, and b) my wife was very against it. We talked about many options. In

the end, we decided that my wife would have the baby, and if it turned out

evil we would put it up for adoption. We knew we just couldn’t do it again

with another child like our son.

We had a daughter. She was normal. Suddenly we saw what our lives should

have been like the whole time, how things would have been had our son

not been himself. She laughed at things. She b__ast fed without biting (she

didn’t have teeth yet anyway, but you could tell she was just trying to eat,

not tear her mom’s b__ast off). After 4 months she was sleeping through

the night. She was happy. She was NORMAL. I can’t describe the relief and

happiness that we both felt, I don’t have the words for it.

This where I believe I may have started really pulling back from my son. Up

until that time, whatever mistakes I made, I had always tried to do the best

for my son, I am convinced of that. I tried to help him and love him and care

for him, I really tried. But when my daughter was born, my wife and I both

instinctively just turned toward her. She became our focus, not from malice,

but just because she was so much EASIER. She was so happy and sweet,

every moment we were with her was like magic. I understand this was

wrong, but we honestly couldn’t help it. I don’t have a better explanation than that.

My son hadn’t given a s__t about my wife being pregnant, I honestly don’t

know if he really understood it, but when we brought our daughter home

he started acting out even more. I didn’t think it was possible, but he took it

up another notch. At this time he was 17, and we were having blow-out

screaming matches daily. Usually after we fought, he would storm out of

the house and disappear for hours at a time, or come back the next

morning. It was a relief. I started to actually look forward to our fights

because it would get him away from us for a while.

After the birth of our daughter, my relationship with my son was almost

entirely gone, our only real interactions were screaming at each other. My

wife was even worse with him, she just had nothing left. By that time, if our

son even came in to the same room as her, she would just stop whatever

she was doing and start screaming “GET THE F__K AWAY FROM ME! GET

AWAY! GET THE F__K OUT!” until he left. He started spending more and

more time out of the house, which was a blessing for us. I have no idea

what he got up to out in the world, but we were just happy it wasn’t being

inflicted on us.

As a consequence of our son’s behavior, we had invested heavily in locks

around our house. All of the cheap, thin interior doors in our home had

been replaced with think, dense wood doors that couldn’t be kicked

through, equipped with keyed locks that my wife and I carried keys to. I

know it sounds extreme, but locks and heavy doors were the best way we

had found to create safe spaces from him. And again, before I am

inundated with messages, I was not locking my son in rooms like a prisoner,

he had free reign of the house and could come and go as he pleased. My

wife and I would lock OURSELVES in rooms to protect ourselves from him, if

anything WE were the prisoners in our own home.

On the day in question, I had fought with my son in the morning and he had

left the house in a rage. My wife and I were enjoying some peace and quiet

in the kitchen while our daughter napped in our bedroom. And then my

daughter began crying. Any parent who has young children can tell you, you

get used to your child’s cries and you can tell after a while what they need,

they cry differently if they are hungry, or need changing, or are just restless

and want to be held. Babies can communicate pretty well before they can

speak. This cry was none of those things. This cry was t__ror. The second we

heard it my wife and I were both up out of our chairs and running to the

room. The door was locked of course, and it took a few seconds to get the

right key and get it open.

My son was in the room. We lived in a bungalow, and the b__tard had

climbed in the window to get to her. He was standing over her crib with a

steak knife in his hand. I have no idea where he got it, it wasn’t one of ours;

we controlled our knives very carefully and always kept them in locked

drawers. I think he may have stolen it from one of our neighbor’s houses.

He had broken her skin twice already, once in the belly area and once on

her arm. I could see blood running down. When I entered the room he was

dragging the back of the knife down her face, not cutting, almost tickling

her with it, teasing her while she screamed. He looked up at us and smiled.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was already moving, running to put

myself between them. I didn’t think about it, I just moved instinctively. Even

with that, my wife got there faster, it was like a movie on fast forward, she

got to our son and bashed his hand away, knocking the knife across the

room and then shoved him with her whole body weight, so hard that he

flew away from the crib and bounced off the wall. I picked up my daughter

and held her while my wife screened us. I could see her shaking, almost

convulsing. I can remember the smell of the room, the sound of my

daughter screaming and wailing. The look on my son’s face as he stood

there. Just nothing. Blank, dead, there was nothing in his eyes, no emotion.

He looked like an alien to me. I watched my wife take a step toward him. I

could have reached out and stopped her, but I didn’t. She stepped forward

again, very close to him. I could have stopped her again. But I didn’t. She

waited, looking at him for maybe 3 to 5 seconds without moving. And then

she punched him in the face.

 

Now until this point, you may have been picturing my wife as a typical

woman, small frame, dainty, delicate. This is not the case. My wife does

have a small frame, but dainty and delicate she is not, never has been since

I’ve known her. Since her early teens, my wife has been a boxer. MMA didn’t

exist back then, but karate and boxing were big in those days, and my wife

was a VERY talented amateur. She was about 130 pounds, she carried a lot

of muscle and she knew how to punch. I had 70 pounds on her back then,

and I have no doubt that in a real fight between me and her she could have

and would have pounded me flat. Neither of us had ever laid a hand on our

son in anger before, but something broke in her that day, and all the years

of anger and pain and sorrow and frustration just came pouring out. When

she hit him his head snapped back and blood started pouring out of his

nose. He hardly reacted, he just looked at her with this shocked expression

like he didn’t know how to process what had just happened. She waited

another second. And then she hit him again.

I could have reached out and stopped her. I could have dragged her out of

the room, taken her away, calmed her. I didn’t. I just stood there and

watched while she systematically started to pound him to a pulp. Every

time he brought his hands to cover one part she would blast him

somewhere else, body, head, body, head, over and over. He started

screaming, crying out, yelling for her to stop. It’s the most genuine reaction

I’d ever seen him have to anything in his whole life. But she wasn’t stopping.

I watched her ramping up, hitting harder, faster, working him like a heavy

bag. He tried to swing at her and she slipped him easily. She was on auto

pilot, sinking down into her training. I stood there watching for a minute.

Then I turned my back on them and took my daughter out of the room.

I brought my daughter to the kitchen and gave her a bath in the sink. I

found that he had cut her a third time on the sole of her foot. All the cuts

were superficial. I cleaned her up and held her until she calmed. I put

Polysporin and Band-Aids on her cuts. In our bedroom, I could hear my son

screaming, calling my wife horrible names, telling her he would cut her

head off and f__k her corpse. After a while, I didn’t hear him saying

anything anymore, didn’t even hear him crying out. I assumed that he must

have been knocked out. But I could still hear her beating him.

That went on for a long time. Long enough for my daughter to drift off to

sleep in my arms. I just sat at the kitchen table waiting for her to finish.

Finally she came out and sat down across from me. Her hands were swollen

and red. Her face and arms were splattered with blood. Her chest was

heaving. We just stared at each other without saying anything. After a while

I asked her “Is he dead?” She looked back at me and answered “I f__king

hope so”. I nodded. That was all there was to say about that. I understood

how she felt perfectly. I felt the same. I didn’t know what to do, so we just

sat there waiting silently. Eventually my wife started crying and went to go

take a shower. I just stayed where I was holding our daughter.

After a long while, I heard moaning and sobbing coming from our room. It

turned out that my son wasn’t dead. I went in to see how bad it was, and it

was… pretty bad. I’ve never seen a more merciless beating laid onto

anyone, before or since. He was lying on the floor, rolling around with

blood leaking out of his face, lying in a pool of vomit. His nose was

squashed flat out across his face, both of his eyes were completely swollen

shut and starting to blacken already. I could see that a couple of his fingers

were bent out at weird angles and he had pissed his pants. I think he must

have been missing teeth, but I couldn’t see any on the floor and I couldn't

see inside his mouth, his lips were all puffed up and swollen. From talking

to my wife about it later, I know now that she had systematically beaten

every part of his body, focusing heavily on his legs. She told me she kicked

him in the groin repeatedly until her legs got tired, and had kept beating his

body long after he had passed out.

When my wife came out of the shower, I still didn’t know what to do about

our son. I didn’t know whether to call the police or an ambulance, take him

to the hospital myself, I honestly didn’t have any idea what to do. After a

while I realized that I simply didn’t care what happened to him anymore,

and we decided to just let him live or die on his own. There was an in-law

suite in the basement that we had never really used, and my wife, my

daughter and I just moved down there. We simply ceded the top floor of

the house to my son and locked everything down, separated our lives

entirely. There was plenty of food in the upstairs cabinets, enough for a

couple weeks or more, he had a washroom and bedrooms to use. We had a

washroom in the basement, a small kitchenette, and a separate entrance so

we just stopped going upstairs. We just decided we were done with him. I

figured we'd let his food run out and see what happened.

Over the next week we could hear him moving around upstairs sometimes.

I think he just spent most of time lying in bed recovering. I went to work,

watching on high alert in case he attacked me in the driveway, but he never

did. My wife stayed home with our daughter. She was never out of our

sight. One night we heard him going ballistic, smashing things and banging.

We didn’t respond. He never tried to get downstairs or get near us though.

I think he was afraid that if he got near us again, my wife might finish the

job on him. After three weeks down in the basement, we hadn’t heard

anything from up above for a few days, and I ventured upstairs to the main

floor of the house.

 

The place was demolished, and there was no sign of my son. He was gone.

It took months to repair the damage he had done and get the main floor

back to normal again. There was food and s__t smeared all over the walls

and broken glass on the floor, big holes in the dry wall, he had ripped the

place apart. He tore up the linoleum in a corner of the kitchen and emptied

an entire foam fire extinguisher into the living room. I feel thankful that he

didn't burn the house down with us in it, I'm honestly not sure why he

didn't, the kid wasn't shy about lighting things on fire. After that, I lived in

fear every day that he would come back, that he would a__ush us out of the

blue and try to k__l us. We moved house about 3 years later and I finally

stopped being afraid that he would show up again, as now he had no idea

where we were. I finally felt safe from him.

All this happened a long time ago. My son was born in the spring of 1971,

my daughter was born in ’88. I'm an old man now, I’ll be 70 this year and my

wife passed from cancer in 2016. My daughter is 31 now, I moved in with

her and her husband after my wife passed. I’ve got two granddaughters

and they are the joy of my life. I see a therapist a couple times a month to

talk about all this. I don’t know where my son is. The last time I saw him was

when he was lying on the floor of our bedroom, bleeding and smashed. I

haven’t heard from him since he left, more than 30 years now. I don’t want to.

I carry a lot of guilt from that time, and a lot of conflicted emotions. I didn’t

beat him myself, but I allowed him to be beaten, and I thought he deserved

it. I was happy it happened. I didn’t try to k__l him, but I would have been

happy if he died. I will say that I do hope he was able to overcome his

demons and go live a normal life somewhere. If he wasn’t able to do that, if

he stayed the way he was, then I truly do hope someone out there killed

him. When I knew him he was a rabid dog, and whichever way it went I just

hope he isn’t still out there hurting anyone else.

Some wounds do not come from a single moment of pain, but from years of fear, exhaustion, and impossible choices that slowly change how a person sees themselves.

When someone reaches a breaking point after enduring overwhelming circumstances, their actions may become difficult to understand from the outside.

In this story, the OP is not only describing a violent incident; he is revealing decades of emotional collapse. He and his wife spent years trying to raise a child whose behavior they experienced as dangerous and uncontrollable.

Their lives became centered around preventing harm, seeking treatment, and protecting themselves and others.

The arrival of their daughter created a painful contrast because they finally experienced the peaceful childhood they had always hoped for.

The OP’s guilt comes from recognizing that, despite years of trying, he eventually reached a point where his fear and exhaustion overwhelmed his ability to feel compassion toward his son.

A different perspective is that this story is not simply about a “bad child” or “bad parents.”

It is about what can happen when caregivers experience prolonged trauma without enough support.

Many people focus on the moment when the mother attacked her son, but the deeper issue is the years of desperation that came before it.

At the same time, severe trauma does not make violence acceptable.

The son’s alleged actions were horrifying, but the response also crossed a line.

Two painful realities can exist together: parents can be victims of unimaginable stress, and children can still be people who need intervention rather than abandonment.

This perspective helps explain why the OP still struggles decades later. He is not only remembering what his son did; he is confronting who he became during those years.

Living in constant fear can push people into survival mode, where the brain focuses on immediate protection rather than long-term consequences.

However, understanding that reaction does not remove the need to acknowledge the harm that occurred.

The OP’s story also raises difficult questions about support systems for families dealing with extreme behavioral problems.

Caregivers are often expected to endure endless challenges, yet many receive little practical help when a child’s needs become beyond what a family can safely manage.

Ultimately, this story is less about assigning a simple label of “monster” or “victim.”

It is about recognizing how untreated or unmanageable crises can destroy an entire family.

The most meaningful step forward is not denying the past, but continuing to process it with honesty, accountability, and compassion for everyone who was affected.

Let’s dive into the reactions from Reddit:

These commenters focused on the shocking nature of the story, saying it was an intense and unbelievable experience

buggzysj − I don't know if this is real or not but holy s__t what a ride it was

Avengers000000000 − This is movie material, you could write a book from

this. I hope you find peace.

This group believed the child showed severe mental issues and suggested professional psychiatric intervention was necessary

bigtiddygoth_gf − He would have definitely murdered many people if it

weren't for that "intervention". He is definitely either in jail or dead, maybe

living on the streets. Hopefully isn't hurting anyone. Still, reading about

how he got beaten up and left to die made me cry. It's fucked up,

everything about this. I don't blame you or your wife.

The fact that he continued to trash the place makes me think he was

clinically insane. This is all terrifying to think about, especially him shuffling

around barely alive upstairs. I'm glad you kept your sanity edit: not sure if

this is real & I don't stand by this mindset anymore, but I'm keeping this for

educational purposes ig?

I understand the urge to protect and attack, as well as possible lack of self-

control after years of something like that. Still, pretty fucked up to almost

k__l the guy imo. As much as, u know, acab, I think this is where you would

typically call them cops.

robertinsatx − Why didn't you commit him to a mental institution? This kid

was a classic psychopath, & irredeemable. The doctors would have backed

you up. Seriously, it was where he belonged.

These users defended the parents’ actions

jevring − Your wife is a f__king hero. Any parent would have done the same.

She was protecting her child from a murderer. The murderer's identity and

relationship to you isn't important.

CheekaBoomBoom − I don’t usually read super long posts but this one was

way worth it . Your wife was amazing ! Soon as he hurt that little girl of

yours she just snapped . And that’s how it’s supposed to be ! You guys tried

so hard to get him to be a normal kid . He was just born evil and conflicted .

Don’t beat yourself up about it .

I don’t know how you guys put ip with it as long as you did but I’m glad you

no longer have to suffer from him . Hopefully he did get help and was able

to become normal .

OMGisThatThePPSH − I met him, 15 years ago; I was told there was nothing

left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding in even the most

rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met

this. .. six-year-old child with this blank, pale, emotionless face, and. .. the

blackest eyes - the Devil's eyes.

I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to

keep him locked up, because I realized that what was living behind that

boy's eyes was purely and simply. .. evil.

These commenters shared the belief that the situation involved extreme behavioral problems that went beyond normal parenting challenges

mackmclongshank − In another life I was a cop. I was sent to a situation very

similar to this. The kid was 15, we'd been dealing with him for nearly 10

years. He was a Mike Meyers style, Chucky incarnate, bloodthirsty,

remoresless, psychopath. The parents did everything they could to help

him, but he was broken and nothing worked.

The kid ended up hurting a younger sibling, or nephew, or something (2-3

yo girl) pretty bad. He wasn't even supposed to be there, but he snuck in to

attack a baby. The dad beat him unconscious. Then kept beating him. Then

kicked his ass out the front door and called us. This was in TX. "Reasonable

discipline" is allowed, and required by state law.

After talking to the CID Captain and an assistant DA, we all decided the dad

was being reasonable. He was fully prepared to go to jail, but under the

circumstances, the desire to protect the baby, and convince his p__cho kid

that such behavior would never be tolerated. ... was reasonable.

They sent the p__cho away somewhere after that, and we never heard from

that family again. The whole situation was sad and it sucked. I rarely believe

these confessions, but this one is 100% possible.

feellikebeingajerk − He is probably either dead or in jail. From your

description there really wasn’t anything else you could do. It sounds like he

had some major mental imbalances and you tried everything. I am surprised

you didn’t have him locked up in a psych ward. I am sorry you had to live

through hell and still are living it to some extent.

The OP’s story is filled with years of fear, exhaustion, guilt, and impossible choices.

After living through decades of trauma caused by his son’s extreme behavior, he now looks back with regret over the moment when anger and desperation took control.

Many readers may struggle with where to place sympathy: with parents pushed beyond their limits, or with a child whose behavior may have come from deep psychological issues.

Do you think the OP and his wife reached a breaking point no one should face, or were there choices they should have made differently?

Share your thoughts below.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS STORY?

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS STORY?

OP Is Not The AH (NTA) 0/0 votes | 0%
OP Is Definitely The AH (YTA) 0/0 votes | 0%
No One Is The AH Here (NAH) 0/0 votes | 0%
Everybody Sucks Here (ESH) 0/0 votes | 0%
Need More INFO (INFO) 0/0 votes | 0%

Leona Pham

Leona Pham

Hi, I'm Leona. I'm a writer for Daily Highlight and have had my work published in a variety of other media outlets. I'm also a New York-based author, and am always interested in new opportunities to share my work with the world. When I'm not writing, I enjoy spending time with my family and friends. Thanks for reading!

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Bride Refuses To Let Flower Girl Wear Flashing Glasses, And Her Sister Gets Upset

Bride Refuses To Let Flower Girl Wear Flashing Glasses, And Her Sister Gets Upset

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Man Lied About Being Jewish as a Teen, Then the Joke Changed His Entire Life Forever

Man Lied About Being Jewish as a Teen, Then the Joke Changed His Entire Life Forever

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Man Secretly Hoped His Relationship Would End, Then Faced the Tragedy He Never Expected

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