My four-year-old son called me sobbing at work.

Breaking the Door

I could hear his truck engine roar through the phone as he pulled up to the house.

“Front door’s locked,” he said.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

“I’m going around back.”

A few seconds later I heard running footsteps… then a violent crash.

Wood splintering.

“Kitchen door gave easier,” Marcus said. “I’m inside.”

I blew through another red light without slowing down.

Twelve minutes away…

My phone vibrated across the conference table during a budget meeting.

At first, I ignored it. Meetings like that didn’t leave room for interruptions.

Three seconds later, it rang again.

A cold weight settled in my chest before I even checked the screen. My son Ethan knew better than to call me during work hours unless something was really wrong.

I picked up.

“Hey buddy, what’s going on?”

All I heard at first were small, broken sobs.

“Daddy… please come home.”

My chair slammed into the wall as I stood up.

“Ethan? What happened? Where’s your mom?”

“She’s not here,” he whispered. “Mom’s boyfriend… Kyle… he hit me with a baseball bat. My arm hurts really bad. He said if I cry, he’ll hurt me more.”

A man’s voice suddenly roared somewhere behind him.

“Who are you calling? Give me that phone!”