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He called, panicking: “Mom, please… please come to the flat. I don’t know what to do. The door is locked and I can’t get her to open it, and there are people here I don’t know.” His voice was high-pitched and frantic, stripped of all the bravado he had used to push me away just days before, replaced by a raw, jagged terror. I didn’t ask questions; I just grabbed my car keys, threw a coat over my pajamas, and drove across town like my life depended on it, my knuckles white against the steering wheel as I ignored every red light on the deserted streets.
