“What’s going on here?” I demanded, my voice stern.
The woman began to sob. “He hit her again. He’s been hitting her for days. I didn’t know what to do. I was too scared to call the police.”
I took a deep breath, trying to contain my anger. I looked at the woman and child, tears streaming down their faces as they clung to each other. It reminded me why I went into the force in the first place, to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. Domestic abuse happened often, and my involvement could escalate the situation for this woman if I wasn’t careful.
“Is he your husband?”
“Y-yes.”
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“He’s just left,” she whispered, “but he’ll be back soon. He just went for smokes.”
I nodded, signaling for her to stay put.
“Please don’t take my babies away.”
“Babies? You have more than one?”
My heart ached as I saw the desperation in the woman’s eyes. I lowered my gun, trying to ease her fears.
“I’m here to help you and your children. Tell me, where is the other child?”
She glanced toward the door to the garage.
“In there?”
She nodded with a small whimper. “She’s been in there for two days now.”
Oh dear God.
I approached the door to the garage, keeping my gun at the ready. I could hear the faint sound of crying coming from behind the door. I took a deep breath, bracing myself, ready for anything. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. I pulled out my lockpick set once again and successfully picked the lock. The door creaked open, and I was hit with a musty smell. It was scorching hot inside.
I was met by a sight that made me want to scream in rage. I found a little girl, no more than four years old, huddled in the corner of a dog crate. The crate had a lock on it. I could tell she was sitting in her own urine and feces. The entire room smelled so bad I had to breathe through my mouth. I was almost in tears as I knelt in front of her. She was crying softly, tears streaming down her face. I approached her slowly, trying not to scare her. Her eyes looked at me, terrified.
“Hey there,” I said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here to help you.”
The little girl looked up at me with big, scared eyes. She didn’t say anything, and I could tell she didn’t trust me. Who could blame her? Adults weren’t safe to her.
“I’m gonna help you get out, okay? I’m not gonna harm you. I once had a little girl like you, but now she’s a big girl,” I said while picking the lock on the cage. I could tell that the sound of it frightened her. It was probably usually the sound that meant he was back and ready to hurt her again. I bit my lip to force back my tears. Who would be this cruel to a poor child?
The lock clicked open, and I pulled it off, then opened the gate. The girl didn’t come out at first, but then her mother came to the doorway, still holding the girl’s little sister, and seeing her, she started to move.
“It’s okay,” her mother whispered. “You can come out. He’s not here.”
I reached out my hand toward her, and she took it. I felt relief as I led her back into the house along with her mother and sister. They all looked up at me with a mix of fear and hope.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I said. “I’m going to get you out of here and someplace safe.”
Tears were streaming across the mother’s face. She hesitated. “I’m scared. He will find us. I know he will. He’s clever like that.”
“I won’t let him,” I said. “Please come with me. For your children’s sake.”
She paused, still thinking it over, fear rushing over her face. I knew how she felt. I remembered what it was like to have your freedom taken away from you. To be forced to do something you knew was wrong. To feel ashamed. I’d had someone who was supposed to protect me do the opposite before…
“I will take you to the shelter,” I said. “There’s one in Rockledge, about half an hour away, that I know is good. They’ll provide for you, help you start again. He won’t be able to get to you there. Okay?”
She nodded, her eyes still unsure. “O-Okay.”
Just as we reached the front door, we heard the sound of a car engine approaching the house. The woman gasped, and I knew we had to act fast. He was parking outside and coming in through the front door.
“Go to the back porch and hide with your children. I’ll handle him,” I said, my voice firm and authoritative. I couldn’t show them that my heart was right now racing in my throat and all my own memories of abuse and violence rushing through me, reminding my body of what happened, how difficult it was for me to fight back, even if I had always thought I was strong.
Because I froze. In shock.
I had been taught self-defense—I knew how to take down dangerous criminals, but when it came to protect myself from the man I thought I could trust, the man who had been like a father to me, I froze. I simply couldn’t manage to use any of my training all those years ago.
And it haunted me still.
Why didn’t I fight back?
That was the question always lingering on my mind. Why didn’t I?
I had no answer. All I knew was that I said no. When he leaned toward me, right before he placed a hand over my mouth, I said the word, “No.”
I didn’t see it coming. I never would have thought he would do such a thing to me. We had been partners, friends, almost family. Joe and I had been to dinners at his house, with his wife. He had taken me under his wing, promised to train me.
I guess it was the shock that made me paralyzed.
