And it was more than just a busted window. It was hours of cops in my home. It was tense time laying on the floor as instructed by 911 dispatchers. It was knowing that my husband ran into the line of fire to confront the shooters. It was knowing that if I had sat in my favorite chair that day, I’d be dead. It was feeling as if I were being hunted because I yelled at them to stop right before it happened.