Blocking the entrance.
That was enough.
I called the county sheriff’s non-emergency line and explained that unknown men were parked at the end of my private driveway, blocking access, after being invited by a family member who had no authority to invite anyone.
The dispatcher asked if I felt unsafe.
I looked at the two men through the
camera feed on my laptop.
“I feel prepared,” I said. “But yes, I want a deputy here.”
At 11:58, my parents’ beige Cadillac pulled up behind the SUV.
My father got out first, red-faced and already waving his arms. My mother climbed out holding a purse, a tote bag, and a rolling suitcase that kept tipping sideways on the gravel.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Not kinder.
Just smaller.
Fear does that to people. I had seen it in hospital rooms for years. Time ages people slowly. Fear ages them all at once.
