When my son called me in a panic, saying there was a disturbance at home, I rushed back, fearing the worst. My day had started normally. While working at my desk, my phone buzzed with texts from my eight-year-old son, Luke, who had tried calling me several times.
This was unusual. Kids generally avoid phone conversations, so I was alarmed and called him back. “Daddy, please come home! Mom is making a lot of noise!” he said. “Calm down, buddy. What’s going on?” “I’m not sure. I came home and heard Mom yelling from her room!” “Did you check on her?” I asked. “I’m scared to go inside. I hear other voices too!” “Stay in your room and lock the door. I’ll call Mom,” I instructed, trying to stay calm.
I tried calling my wife, Nikkie, but her phone went to voicemail, which was unusual. We had a child; our phones were always on. I quickly decided to call the police, grabbed my jacket and wallet, and headed out. I informed 911 of a possible disturbance at my house and requested urgent assistance. Racing home, I continued to call Nikkie, growing more worried.
When I arrived, the police had not yet arrived. I was anxious and concerned for Nikkie’s safety. I felt unprepared and wished we had some form of security. I decided to confront whatever was happening.
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