“I don’t know,” I said.
Camille nodded.
“Then we’ll help you find out.”
And for the first time that night, I began to believe I might actually get away.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
I had asked Camille to call them.
Making that decision terrified me.
Brandon had always warned me that involving outsiders would only make things worse.
He said police officers wouldn’t believe me.
That judges favored successful men.
That his connections could ruin my life.
But Camille stayed beside me while I explained what had happened.
A female officer named Renee Wallace listened carefully.
She asked about the marks on my wrist.
The previous incidents.
Whether Brandon had threatened me.
Whether he had access to weapons.
Whether I believed he’d come looking for me again.
I answered as honestly as I could.
Some questions made me shake.
Others made me cry.
The officer explained my options for seeking protection and documenting the abuse. She also gave me information about domestic violence services that could help with shelter, legal advice, and safety planning.
