Another shift, another day
We’re never dispatched into happy homes.
No, we’re sent into the broken ones.
We’re tasked to save the stabbed, shot, beaten and brutalized.
We witness the child holding his broken toy left behind by a burglar.
The vacant stare in the woman who knows a stranger has been touching her lingerie.
The anger and grief in a husband who knows he cannot protect his family.
Night after night, month after month, for years.
We do what we can knowing it will never be enough.
Then we try to sleep at night, knowing they’re out there.