I sat on the curb and reconstructed what had happened—only the facts.
Keys taken. Forcibly removed. Locked out of my own home. This wasn't just betrayal; it was a crime. They were going to pay for it. I dialed the police.
The line connected on the second ring. "Emergency or non-emergency?" "Non-emergency," I said, trying to keep my voice clear. "I need to report a domestic incident." "Go ahead."
"I was forcibly removed from my residence by my partner and another occupant. My keys were taken. I was locked out." "Are you injured?" "Yes. I fell down the stairs." "Where are you now?" "Outside the building. On the curb."
The dispatcher began taking details. I gave the address, then my full name: "Evelyn Hart." "ID number?" "EJH-0429-1989."
The sound of typing stopped abruptly.
"…One moment," she said, her voice dropping into a confused mutter. I heard a faint whisper on the other end, but I wasn't sure if I heard it correctly. "…Three minutes ago…"
"What was that?" I asked.
The dispatcher didn't answer. When she spoke again, her voice was cold and professional once more. "Ms. Hart, please stay where you are. Do not leave the area. We have dispatched officers; a patrol car will arrive within three minutes. Keep your line open."
The call ended.
I put down my cracked phone and sat back down on the curb. I had done everything I could do.
The night wind blew past, stripping away the last of the warmth from my skin. My mind was still a chaotic mess, unable to process anything, letting only the faint, fragmented noises swirl in my ears. Three minutes ago?
I stared at my shadow, stretched long by the streetlamp, and waited for the red and blue lights to appear.