This story keeps coming to mind for some reason. I have lots of thoughts about it, but won't pontificate here. (Saving it for my memoirs.) For whatever reason, I feel like telling it. Perhaps that's reason enough! When I was 7 months pregnant with my son, a knock came at the front door around 2:30 in the morning. My then-husband and I looked at each other, and wondered aloud who it was. Of course, that's the kind of thing you have to check out. (My first thought was of my 4 year-old daughter asleep in the next room.) I went to the front door, but before turning on the porch light and opening the door, I went into the living room to survey the scene while remaining unseen. A cop car in the middle of the street, lights flashing, a cop at our door. It all looked legit. I turned on the light and opened the door. A young cop, visibly shaken, asked if we'd seen or heard anything. Someone had been attacked in the street in front of our house. It must have been bad. He looked so upset, I put my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. I hadn't seen or heard anything, not even the fire department, which had already been and gone by the time he knocked on our door. Neither of the dogs had barked either. I looked around to see where my German Shepherd was. (Everyone knows they bark at everything and nothing.) She was just sitting there behind me, yawning, clearly having just woken up. Beyond her was my husband. Hiding behind the bedroom door, peeking his head out. I told him it was safe, and to come out and talk to the cop. We talked a little longer and went back to bed. Later, I asked my husband why he hadn't come to the door with me. He became angry and said it took him awhile to wake up. Sure. I let it go because actually, it never occurred to me that he would, or at the time, that perhaps he should. That story says so many things about everything.