Page 32 of Sweetly Yours

It’s open.

My stomach drops, my hands freezing on the steering wheel. The door isn’t just unlocked—it’s ajar, swaying slightly in the breeze.

“Stay here, Frankie,” I say softly, my voice trembling as I grab my phone.

He whines but settles into his seat as I step out, my heart pounding in my chest.

I hit 911, the line ringing in my ear as I creep closer to the house, my hand shaking.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi,” I say, my voice unsteady. “I think someone broke into my house.”

“Are you inside?”

“No,” I whisper, standing just outside the open door. “I’m still outside.”

“Is there anyone still in the house?”

“I... I don’t think so.”

“Stay outside, ma’am,” the operator says firmly. “Officers are on their way. Can you see anything unusual from where you are?”

I hesitate, the urge to know pulling me forward despite the pit in my stomach. I push the door open wider, stepping inside as I glance around.

“Ma’am, I need you to stay outside,” the operator says again.

“I—I just need to see...” My voice trails off as I step into the living room.

My couch has been slashed, the cushions ripped apart with jagged tears. The coffee table is overturned, my favorite vase shattered on the floor. The shelves, usually lined with knickknacks I’ve collected over the years, are bare—most of the items lie broken, scattered across the hardwood.

I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Ma’am?” the operator asks.

“They... they trashed the place,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“Is there anyone else there?”

I take another shaky step forward, my eyes darting to the shadows in the corners of the room. “No, I don’t think so. It’s just... just me.”

The sound of sirens in the distance cuts through the silence, and I exhale shakily, backing toward the door.

“Officers are almost there,” the operator says. “I need you to step outside and wait for them.”

I nod, even though they can’t see me, and stumble out onto the porch, my breath coming in short bursts.

Frankie barks from the car, and the sight of him, safe and sound, brings a small sense of relief.

The red and blue lights flash against the trees, cutting through the darkness as two patrol cars pull up to the curb. The sight makes my stomach tighten all over again, and I wrap my arms around myself as I step off the porch.

An officer, tall and broad-shouldered with a no-nonsense expression, approaches me, his badge catching the porch light. Another, younger and carrying a notepad, lingers behind him, scanning the area.

“I’m Officer Harris,” the older one says, his voice calm but firm. He gestures toward the younger man. “This is Officer Denton. Are you the one who called this in?”

I nod quickly. “Yes. I—I came home to grab a few things, and the door was open. When I went inside, I saw...” I gesture vaguely toward the house, swallowing hard. “It’s trashed.”

Harris nods, exchanging a glance with Denton. “We’ll take a look. Did you see anyone leaving, or anything suspicious before you got here?”

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