My six-year-old son burst into the supermarket where I worked, three miles from home, in tears, and gasping he shouted, “Mom, we have to go home right now… Dad…”
The officer nodded toward the house.
— We’ll find out. But your son did the right thing. He left and came to get you.
They led me under the tape. Inside, the house felt unfamiliar: an overturned chair, scattered papers, signs of haste, and on the floor my husband’s phone with a cracked screen. I realized it hadn’t been a random visit or an ordinary argument.
