Mark grabbed the handle and rattled it. “Elena! Open this door! Open this damn door right now!”
He began pounding on the thick oak door with his fists. “Open the door, you bitch!” he screamed, his voice raw.
Just then, two things happened at once. First, the serene quiet of the neighborhood was shattered by the wail of sirens. Two police cruisers, lights flashing, screeched to a halt at the curb in front of the house.
Second, the digital clock on my phone screen ticked over.
5:00 PM.
Chapter 4: Police and Humiliation
Two officers stepped out of the first car. One was a tall, stern-looking woman with her hair in a tight bun. The other was an older man with a weary face and a thick mustache.
“Ma’am?” the woman officer said, approaching me cautiously. “We got a call about a disturbance.”
“Yes, Officer,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. I held up the folder I had managed to grab before fleeing the house. “My name is Elena Vance. This is my property. There are two intruders in my home who are refusing to leave.”
I handed her the deed and my driver’s license. She scanned the documents, her eyes moving back and forth between the paper and my face.
Mark was still screaming from behind the locked door. “She’s lying! She’s my wife! She’s having a psychotic episode!”
The officer with the mustache walked up to the door. “Sir, this is the police. Please open the door.”
“Not until she lets me in my own house!” Mark yelled back.
The officer looked back at me. I just nodded. He sighed and turned back to the door. “Sir, if you don’t open this door, we will open it for you.”
A moment later, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. Mark stood there, red-faced and panting.
“Sir, this is my house!” he screamed at the officer. “My wife is hysterical!”
The woman officer stepped forward, holding the deed. “Your name isn’t on this document, sir. This property is registered solely to Elena Vance. And she wants you to leave the premises.”
Just then, Linda appeared at the top of the stairs. She had wrapped herself in a plush white towel from the master bathroom—my towel. She must have thought her maternal presence would intimidate them.
“You can’t kick my son out of his own house!” she shrieked, clutching the towel dramatically. “And you certainly can’t kick me out! I was just taking a nap in my son’s room!”
The male officer raised a single, thick eyebrow. He looked at Mark with a new expression—one of pure, unadulterated disgust.
“You sleep in the same bed as your mother?” he asked, his voice flat.
The question hung in the air, a grenade of social horror. Mark’s face went from red to a deep, blotchy purple. Even through his rage, he understood how that sounded.
“That’s none of your business!” he sputtered.
“Right now, my business is removing you from the premises,” the officer said, his hand resting casually on the butt of his holster. “You can walk out peacefully, or I can cuff both of you for trespassing. Your choice.”
The fight seemed to drain out of them in an instant, replaced by a dawning, mortifying humiliation. Neighbors were starting to creep out onto their porches, phones held up to discreetly film the drama.
They were escorted down the front steps and onto the street, walking right past my suitcases, which were still lying broken on the grass. Linda was still in the towel, trying to cover herself as she scurried past the flashing police lights. Mark walked with his head down, refusing to look at anyone.
He stopped at the curb and turned back to look at me. His eyes were wild with hatred.
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