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\u201cOfficer, please,\u201d Richard gasped as the two uniformed policemen entered, guns wary but lowered. \u201cMy wife\u2026 she\u2019s been having these episodes. I tried to calm her down, but she just grabbed the vase\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
The officers looked at him\u2014wealthy, well-dressed, bleeding. Then they looked at me\u2014skinny, wearing a faded house dress, shaking violently, standing over him with a shard of porcelain still clutched in my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cMa\u2019am, drop the weapon,\u201d one officer commanded, his hand resting on his holster.<\/p>\n
I dropped the shard. It clattered onto the hardwood floor. \u201cHe hit her,\u201d I whispered, my voice raspy from disuse. \u201cHe was hitting Emily.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLiar!\u201d Richard bellowed, wincing theatrically. \u201cI was disciplining her because she broke a plate! A timeout! And then Sarah went berserk!\u201d<\/p>\n
The officers didn\u2019t look at Emily. They didn\u2019t see the terror in her eyes. They only saw the blood on the prominent lawyer\u2019s face. Within seconds, my hands were wrenched behind my back. The cold steel of the handcuffs bit into my wrists, a sensation that felt terrifyingly final.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have the right to remain silent,\u201d the officer recited.<\/p>\n