UNbroken

It was Monday, July 1, and with only ten minutes remaining in my workday, I rushed around frantically, finishing up a few last-minute details before heading off on vacation for the remainder of the week.

Suddenly, the new receptionist was standing at my desk. “I have a call for you,” she said.

“Go ahead and transfer it to my desk, please,” I requested.

“I can’t,” she replied. “It’s the police department, and they said they need to talk to you. They said it’s very important, and I’m afraid I might disconnect your call. Will you please come to the front desk to take this call?”

Panicked thoughts filled my head as I walked quickly toward the front office, dodging other staff along the way. What if something was wrong with my children or my husband? I anxiously picked up the blinking phone line at the receptionist’s desk. “Hello, this is Wendy. Can I help you?” I asked nervously.

“This is Sergeant Collins from the Cloverdale Police Department, and we need you to come down to the station immediately.”

“Why?” I cried out. “What has happened?”

“It’s your husband Lawrence,” the officer responded. “He’s been arrested, along with another man.” There was silence as I felt myself go lightheaded.

What? No! I thought, as I slowly sank into the receptionist’s chair. I barely heard the officer continue.

“If you feel you cannot drive yourself, an officer will come and pick you up to bring you here. If you are able to drive, do not go to your house first, as an officer is waiting there and will not let you enter your home. You need to come directly to the station.”

With my head spinning and fear gripping my heart, I raced back to my desk, mumbling “I don’t understand!” over and over again. I quickly grabbed my purse and flew out the door. It didn’t even dawn on me that I had just left an office of over eighty employees and never told a soul that I was leaving—although I’m sure the news traveled like a wildfire throughout the building within minutes.

As I drove to the local police station, my head was exploding with questions. “How could this be? He's at work two hundred miles away! He’s a man of the law! He’s too smart to do anything wrong!” I cried to myself as I drove ...

As I pulled into the police station’s entrance, I realized I couldn’t even recall the drive there. Confusing thoughts continued to leap through my mind as I remembered the last conversation I’d had with Lawrence. It was earlier that morning, at about eleven o’clock. I was busy working at my desk when my phone rang.

“Is everything okay? How are you doing?” he’d asked. His probing questions were more perplexing than comforting, as he’d asked the same thing in the last two calls I’d received from him—one at seven that morning and the other at eleven the night before. He didn’t seem himself. It was as if something was troubling him. When I’d asked the same questions of him, he’d answered, “I’m fine,” and “I’m sitting here all alone in the weapons unit.” Then Lawrence went on to explain, “All the other officers were just called up to a meeting in the main administration building, so I have a little downtime and thought I would give you a call.”

I shared my excitement about our boat trip coming up and reminded him I would be boarding the train soon to meet him at the dock on the river. I could hardly wait to see him again. I was missing him and remembering that before he was transferred, a week didn’t go by without his taking me to lunch or bringing me flowers.

As I entered the police station’s lobby, my legs were shaking. Fear took hold and got the best of me. I trembled as I opened my mouth to give my name to the officer behind the counter; my voice was barely understandable.

“Please have a seat,” the officer said. “The detective will be right with you.”

As I turned to find a seat, I saw other people in the room and found myself quickly turning my face toward the floor out of shame and embarrassment. I could not understand what was happening. We are good and ethical people, I thought, and we don’t belong on this side of the counter.

The detective quickly escorted me to a private office, where I was introduced to the sergeant. “Please have a seat,” he said.

“I think I would rather stand,” I replied, looking helplessly at him.

“No, you need to sit down before I tell you what I have to say,” the sergeant said. The look on his face sent a shock through me. As I continued to look into the sergeant’s eyes, I reached a hand behind me, stretching to find the chair, so I could slowly lower myself into it without falling ...

His words hit me like a bolt of lightning. I went numb all over, white blotches flashing before my eyes. If I hadn't already been sitting, I would have dropped to the floor...