At 2 a.m., while I was staying at my sister’s house with my four-year-old son, my husband suddenly called. “Get out of that house right now, don’t make a sound!” But when I turned the knob, I realized it was locked from the outside…

I took a deep breath and lifted my son. “Sweetheart. Put your arms up.”
He obeyed. I guided him through the narrow frame. For a moment his shoe caught on the ledge and he winced softly. I steadied him and whispered encouragement. Then he slid through and landed on the small slanted roof outside with a faint thump.

The bathroom door groaned under another impact. The wood splintered near the lock. “Where are you going.” Kellen shouted.

I pulled myself up and through the window just as the door finally gave way. I dropped onto the roof beside Alden. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear the world around me. I grabbed my son’s hand and whispered, “We have to go down. Stay low and keep close.”

Voices rose inside the house. “What are you doing.” Briella screamed somewhere down the hall.

Kellen barked back at her. “This is not your concern. Stay where you are.”

His tone carried a dangerous anger that I had never heard before.

Then bright lights flashed across the yard. “Police. Open the door now.”