At the mention of the police, my mother’s face went pale. She shook her head, panic setting in. “No, you can’t call the police! If you do, Kennith’s life will be ruined. He’s the only son the Slatons have.”
My father scoffed. “They brought this on themselves. We’re calling the police tomorrow, no question.”
After some discussion, we all agreed—calling the police was the right move. We also decided to cut off all contact with the Slatons and pretend they didn’t exist. My mother, though reluctant, knew it had to be done. Kennith’s actions had destroyed any hope of maintaining a relationship between our families.
I spent the whole night tossing and turning, haunted by the image of Kennith’s twisted face. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the cold sweat breaking out on my skin. When morning finally came, I was exhausted but still wide awake.
As I lay there trying to gather the energy to get up, I suddenly heard a commotion outside my room. Curious and a bit on edge, I quickly threw on some clothes and rushed out. To my surprise, two police officers—one male, one female—were standing in our living room, looking serious in their uniforms.