Broken Doors

Walking into work that day, I could never forget my reflection in the revolving security doors. My sleeveless red maternity button down shirt over a faux-Burberry skirt - I felt something. Some way. My hair pulled back in a slick bun, I walked up to my cube, sat down and logged in for another day in the thriving mortgage industry as an underwriter. The normal hustle and shake of the movement of work assignment logs and calls with appraisers and realtors seemed still. There was an eeriness to the day. Suddenly, before the hands on the clock had barely moved, the phone on my desk rang. I could see the number on the screen: 825-7828. Home. I answer. I hear, “Soleste, there are Sheriffs at the door. They are saying we have to get out of the house now!” Now? No, this could not be happening. “Are you there? Do you hear me?” I could hear Kirby and Sabrina, our pitbulls' paws scratching across the hardwood floors and barking. They were uncomfortable with the energy of this time and space. I could hear the world moving in that moment. So loud, yet silent. “Soleste, Soleste - Hello? You need to come home now.” Cyrus knew that he needed to remove me from the hypnotic state that I had fallen into from the information he had the horrific task of communicating to me. I stopped for a moment to breathe. Then I tuned back into Cyrus and one of the most difficult calls I had to receive. “Babe - a Sheriff was trying to climb into the window. There is a moving truck outside!”. His voice, calm and alarmed at the same time. I reach down and rub my belly. My baby. Only a few days before, so many beautiful, happy faces surrounded me at my first baby shower for my first born child. “I'm on my way”.