The last time I was in the backyard of my father’s ranch, I heard a rattling of heavy boxes, a woman’s voice yelling, “Go ahead, cut!”
I was startled by the noise, which seemed to emanate from the front of the house.
I knew it was coming from the barn.
The woman in the barn was a young girl, and the man’s wife, who had been standing behind me, had also disappeared.
We’d been married for three years.
We had been living in the family home for the past five months.
I was shocked to find out what was happening.
My father was an experienced woodworker, and he had been building a log cabin on the property for the last five years.
My mother, a single mom of four children, was also a retired woodworker who built her own cabin for the same purpose.
The two of us spent our summers and winters building wooden structures on the land.
In our backyard, we had built a large log cabin that was one of the largest in the area, as well as a small shack for a horse.
The barn was an incredible undertaking, and we had all the tools needed to complete it.
I remember the day I heard the rattling.
I heard it from the backyard.
I ran up the driveway and saw the house, where my father had been working for months, and my mother.
I started crying, and I ran to the front door.
I opened it, and there were two men standing there, with guns.
One of them was armed, and a gun was pointed at me.
The man in the shack grabbed my father by the neck, pulled him into the barn, and began kicking and punching him.
My dad said, “Don’t let them get you.”
The other man grabbed my mother and dragged her away from me.
My parents ran into the backyard, screaming and screaming.
My mom screamed, “Please, don’t hurt my mom!”
She said, and then she started to run toward the house and was hit.
The first bullet went through her right arm.
Then the second shot went through the back of her neck, which broke her ribcage.
My grandfather ran into our house, screaming, “My daddy is dying!
My daddy is dead!
My father is dead!”
I told my grandfather, “We have to go out and get help.”
He said, in the dead of night, “I’m not going anywhere.”
My mother screamed, and she ran back to the barn with my father.
I said, if you can’t take her, what can you do?
My father said, I can’t do anything because we can’t save my mother’s life.
So I took my mother to the doctor.
The doctor said, my father is dying.
He said that my father would be dead in a few hours.
My grandmother ran out the back door and found my father on the ground, bleeding to death.
My grandparents ran outside, shouting, “Get him!”
My father screamed, but he couldn’t move.
My great-grandfather rushed to the back room and found his mother lying on the floor.
She was bleeding heavily.
My aunt, who was with me, ran out to the yard and found a rifle in the woods, which was loaded.
The next day, we drove over to the farm and retrieved our guns.
We then went back to my father, who died the next day.
He was not a very good man, but I was determined to do what was right.
I went to the FBI, where I was told to call the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC), the FBI office in Georgia, to get assistance.
When I called the NCMEC, I was instructed to go to the nearest state office of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF) and report the crime.
That’s when I was informed of the incident.
After I received the call, the FBI contacted me and the NCNEC.
My husband and I went and spoke with NCMec agents in the Atlanta office.
The agents told us that they had found the gun, which they said was used in the murder of my mother, in Georgia.
They said that the FBI had contacted NCMEME about the case, and that my husband and me had also been contacted.
NCMEP, the National Missing and Unidentified Persons Coalition, and FBI agents were able to locate and interview my husband, my brother, and me.
I had a lot of faith in NCMEO and NCMCE.
They told me that they were aware of the case and they were going to assist the FBI.
But I still had concerns.
My daughter was with us when we received the news and said, what if we don’t tell them?
The agent told me to just tell my daughter and let her decide.
My brother and I had gone to visit my mother at home,