On the other end of the line there was a strange, heavy silence, as if something had gotten stuck in the air.
Then he spoke, in a voice that did not know him:
“Listen to me well. Grab our daughter and jump out of that house right now.
I let out a nervous laugh, the kind that comes out when something doesn’t add up.
“What?” Why?
He shouted at me, no longer restrained:
“Do it now! Don’t ask anything!
That voice was not his. It wasn’t courage. It was pure fear, real fear.
I took my daughter in my arms and started walking towards the exit. My heart was pounding so hard that I felt like everyone could hear it. What happened next was terrifying.
My husband’s voice no longer sounded like him.
She was tense. Forcibly controlled. Terrified.
“Where are you exactly?” he asked.
