My four-year-old son called me sobbing at work. Daddy, mommy’s boyfriend hit me with a baseball bat. He said if I cry, he’ll hurt me more. I heard a man yelling in the background. I was 20 minutes away. I called my brother, an ex-cage fighter. I’m closer. I’m going in now. When he kicked down the door, the phone buzzed against my desk during a budget meeting. I ignored it the first time. 3 seconds later, it rang again. Something cold gripped my chest because Tyler knew not to call unless it was serious. Daddy. His voice cracked through the speaker, barely audible over his sobbing.

Brian, something’s wrong. Brad’s hurting Tyler. I’m 20 minutes away. I need you to go in now.

Within seconds, Brian replied.

On it. Don’t worry. I’m closer.

My chest burned with fear. I paced in the hallway outside the meeting room, trying to shake off the feeling of helplessness. My mind raced as I thought about everything Brad could be doing to my son in those moments.

I was so far away. So far away from him.

As I rushed toward the elevator, I could barely get a grip on the reality of what I was facing. This wasn’t a scuffle. This wasn’t a minor incident. My son had been struck with a baseball bat. Brad had threatened him.

The elevator doors dinged open, and I raced toward the exit. My phone buzzed again, and this time it was a message from Brian.

I’m kicking the door down. Stay on the phone.

I didn’t even respond. I just ran.

The drive felt like hours. Every second stretched out. Every car in front of me felt like an obstacle, a delay. I pushed the pedal down harder, faster.

My phone rang again. Brian.

“Brian, what’s happening?” I demanded, my voice tight with fear.

“Nothing yet,” he replied. “I’m a couple of minutes away from the house, but I’ve got eyes on the place. Brad’s inside. Tyler’s in there too. But I’m not going in without a plan.”

I clenched my jaw, knowing Brian had been trained for situations like this. He didn’t act without thinking, and that’s exactly why I needed him. But the longer it took for him to get there, the more I feared for Tyler.

“You need to go in now!” I snapped.

“I’m going in,” Brian said calmly. “But I need you to keep your head. This isn’t a cage fight. I’m not just going to throw punches.”

I understood that. But the thought of my son hurt, and me being too far away to protect him—it gnawed at my insides.

“I’m almost there,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ll be there soon.”