The First Arrest
It was just a normal day. A completely normal day.
That morning, we had noticed an unusual number of officers around our neighborhood. Parked on corners. Cruising slower than usual. But honestly? We didn’t think much of it. This is a small town, and the cops are always chasing down druggies or pulling over someone’s kid for a broken taillight. Just another day, right?
Wrong.
My husband was picking me up in my car. I was coming outside, just finishing up my class, and I see it happen—right there in front of God and everyone. A police cruiser pulls up behind him like it’s some kind of sting operation. And before I could even make sense of it, they’re pulling him out of the driver’s seat and slapping cuffs on him.
No warning. No explanation. Just bam—humiliation on display for the world to see.
This time? It wasn’t even something major. He had forgotten to pay a fine. That’s it. A fine.
And I was literally holding the money in my hand. I looked the officer dead in the eye and said, “We’re going right now. I just have to finish class. We’re already on the way.”
Didn’t matter.
I begged. I said, “If I have the funds, you’re supposed to let us pay. That’s the process.”
They refused. Flat-out refused. Loaded him up like a criminal, like he was dangerous, like we were trying to pull something shady.
And then? I waited. Three hours. Three full hours while the woman working the front desk at the Marshals’ office was “out to lunch.” Three hours until I could pay that fine and bring him home.
$700 later, I was just grateful I had the money at all. What if I didn’t? What happens then?
But that day—that moment—wasn’t just an arrest. It was a message.
That was the beginning. The start of what would become a relentless pattern. Arrests, one after the other, back to back to back. Each one more aggressive, more exaggerated than the last.
And for what? To scare us? To break us?
They didn’t realize who they were messing with. Because this Angry Wife? I’ve got receipts. I’ve got rage. And now, I’ve got a platform.
