Interrupted

I had settled in for a night of writing and polishing when my daughter directed my attention to our ceiling. Lost in my anxiety, I hadn’t heard the crashing above my head. D grabbed me as a male voice yelled, “I’m going to kill you.” There were sounds of struggle and a female voice crying.

Do I call 911? Am I putting the young men in my building at risk if I contact the police? Will a woman be injured if I don’t?

I placed the call and am hoping for the best. We looked out the window for lights during two and a half hours of lulls and eruptions.

My daughter is waiting in my bed, afraid to sleep alone tonight, and I will join her shortly for cuddles instead of writing my Sunday post. Below is a video from my colleagues at the Domestic Violence Project.

XOXO,

Lateefah