Just 11 minutes after I returned from the hospital with a shattered femur, my mother-in-law kicked my crutches away. Ignoring my agonized screams, she and my husband dragged me into a pitch-black garage.

911.

“County emergency dispatch,” a woman answered. “What is the location of your emergency?”

“My name is Audrey Whitaker,” I whispered. “I am locked inside my garage at 118 Briar Lane. My husband assaulted me. I have a freshly broken femur. I need police and medical help.”

“Are you in immediate danger?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “But they think I’m helpless.continue reading …