The doorbell rang. I could hear someone sobbing outside. I opened the door. "Help me. My husband is....." sobbed the lady who had just moved in next door. I couldn't hear her, but wordlessly followed her into her apartment. Her husband wasn't lying in a pool of blood, or having a heart attack. "My husband is hitting me", she had said.
All I could do was hold her tight, and let her cry her sorrow away. I marvel at the courage it must have taken to approach a stranger for help. And hope they can sort it out. Or not.