I Prayed for a Miracle—Now I Lock My Door at Night

cold.

The locked safe in the garage. The knives. The scissors. The tools. Everything a normal person uses without thinking. Everything I’d turned into contraband.

He rattled something—maybe the front door chain. Maybe the closet.

“Sarah!” he yelled, using my name like a weapon. “I know you’re in there. Come out.”

I didn’t answer.

My hand slid to the phone continue reading …