In the late 90’s, I was in my twenties and married to a police officer. One night I was walking back to bed and heard an explosion so loud and so forceful I could feel it. I was confused, dazed even, and I started screaming to my husband, who was in bed already, that something in our house had blown up. I was standing in the doorway and a second explosion happened. The explosion ripped off the doorframe I was leaning on, driving shards of wood into my face and head. I was feeling my head and dazed when the third explosion happened, and in that flash of light, I saw my DRUNK husband’s face and stance, aiming a 357 magnum at me from the reflection in the mirror! I grabbed the dog and ran down the hall as the fourth shot tore through the metal back door and blew a hole the size of a fist through it.
My hands shake as I type out a story that happened 25 years ago. Guns in the wrong hands need to stop now. I am sorry that I can’t print my name or photo b/c I had to escape.