Two squad cars screeched to a halt, cutting off the street. Two officers, a man and a woman, jumped out, guns drawn but pointed down.
“What’s the situation?” the male officer barked at Henderson.
Henderson pointed toward the house. “Heard a violent altercation. Glass breaking. Woman screamed for help. No sound since.”
The officers moved up the walkway, stacking on either side of the front door.
“This is the Atlanta PD. Open the door!” the male officer shouted.
Silence.
My heart felt like it was going to explode. I pushed past Henderson, ignoring his protest.
“My wife is in there! Evelyn Harrison. My daughter Maya!”
The female officer put a hand out to stop me. “Sir, stay back. We need you to stay on the lawn.”
“That’s my family!” I roared.
The officer shouted again. “Police! Open the door now, or we’re coming in!”
Nothing. Just a terrible, heavy silence from inside the house.
“Okay. Breach it,” the male officer said.
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