** This article is based on nonfiction by actual events that I have experienced firsthand; used with permission.
Living in one of the five largest cities in the United States had its pros and cons. I loved that I could walk nearly anywhere and be able to do something. There were plenty of parks and areas set aside that I could take my toddler to play in. However, there were also some serious concerns about safety, especially after dark.
One very early morning, when I was about six months pregnant with our second child, I heard a pounding on the door. I attempted to wake my husband, but there was no budging the man. He was sleeping soundly, and the pounding was becoming increasingly louder. At 2:00 am, I wasn’t about to open the door to just anyone.
Fearing that it would wake our toddler or, worse, break down the door, I went to peer out of the peephole to see who it could be. Since I didn’t recognize the person on the other side of the door, I didn’t unlock the door. Instead, I stood on my toddler’s step stool (to appear taller as I’m not overly tall), and I asked in the deepest voice I could muster, “Who is it”?
The voice on the other side of the door demanded that “Deborah” open this door immediately. I informed the person that there was no Deborah here. They continued pounding. I again attempted to wake my husband, and he still wasn’t waking up (yes, I even threw water in his face).
So I went back to the door and told the person that I had just called the police and that they were on their way and anxious to speak with him. Peering out of the peephole, I watched in awe as the large man placed a hand on the porch railing and vaulted to the first level from the landing of our third-floor apartment. He ran off into the night.
When my husband woke up several hours later, I informed him that we were moving to a safer area. He never did believe me about the guy pounding on the door. We’ve since parted ways, but I’ll never forget the fear that surged through that encounter. What would you have done?
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