The first time I saw him, it was merely a quick glance. You know what they say about a man in a uniform. Well, this one... he actually did something for me. No man had ever had that kind of effect on me.
It started one spring night. I had the windows open to let in some fresh air. My husband, daughter and I were watching television. Lindsay was in bed with her father and I was in the recliner in our room. I got up to use the bathroom. Just as I was finishing there was a loud crash. Then my darling husband screamed at my daughter. “You bitch. What the hell were you thinking?”
I ran into the room and saw that his mother's lamp was smashed on the floor. She had innocently moved the pillow and knocked the ceramic lamp onto the hardwood. Lindsay got down on the floor and tried to pick up the pieces.
“You're so stupid. What are you doing? You'll cut yourself.”
My daughter yelped as a piece of the ceramic nicked her finger.
“I told you, you dumb ass.”
I scooped her up and carried her to her room. She was crying. I checked her finger. It was a minor cut, but I was sure it hurt. As I went to get a band-aid, he yelled at me to clean up the mess. Well, one thing led to another and he ended up back-handing me. This was the first time a neighbor heard and called the police. Kent jogged down the stairs to answer the door.
“Hello, Officer. What can I help you with?” he asked calmly.
“We had a complaint about a loud noise and a lot of yelling. The neighbor was concerned.”
“Oh, oh, yes. Everything is fine. My daughter knocked a large lamp on the floor and it crashed pretty loudly. My wife yelled at her. Everything's fine. Thank you for stopping by.”
I peeked around the corner at the top of the stairs. Kent tried to close the door, yet the officer stopped it with his hand.
“If it's alright with you, Sir, I would like to see your wife and daughter.”
“Oh, oh sure. Darling, bring Lindsay downstairs.”
As I picked up my daughter I begged her not to say anything to the police about her father yelling.
“Okay, Mommy,” she whispered.
I wiped her tears and carried her to the front door. I kept my left profile hidden in my daughter's hair for fear swelling had already begun.
“Ma'am,” he said, tipping his hat. “Are you and your daughter in any danger?”
I gazed at him for a split second then looked away. “We are fine. She has a small cut on her finger, but we are both fine.”
“Okay, then. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Have a good night.”
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