I finally found my way out of my abusive relationship after four years. He called, telling me what he told me countless times — that he couldn’t, that he wouldn’t, live without me. I heard the gunshot over the phone, then silence. I rushed to the apartment, thinking I would find the man I had loved dead. I found him unconscious; he had faked his suicide to get me over there. An empty handle of alcohol was next to him and a gun. Police checked the weapon; loaded, two bullets. It didn’t register he was going to kill us both until the police officer on the scene told me, “You are lucky he passed out first; you are lucky to be alive.”
As they took him away to pump his stomach and be evaluated by mental health professionals, they left the weapon on the floor because by law, they couldn’t remove it.
He was released three days later, and I found him by my car after work, with his gun. He didn’t shoot me.
I just got lucky. I am so lucky to be alive.