No, My Husband Doesn't Beat Me. I Really Did Fall Down The Stairs.

It was Friday afternoon and we finally reached the rental car office. My dad and I were ascending the parking garage when sirens and lights started flashing. We parked on the 6th floor and as we stepped out of my car a loud voice came over the intercom: "an emergency has been reported. please evacuate the building immediately!"
We headed for the stairwell and hurried down the stairs. Lights were alternating colors and the sirens were still in full force. As we turned the corner near the 4th floor I misstepped and my left heel caught my right cuff. I searched for the railing. Nothing.
As I dove head-first down the flight of stairs I instinctively curled up and protected my head. In the moment I felt like a stunt double in an action-packed adventure. But when my body hit the landing I realized this was no movie.
My dad rushed down the stairs and helped me to my feet. We reached the street to find the entire block being evacuated. We saw a hotel a few blocks away and pushed through the crowd.
After reaching the hotel I made my way to the lady's room and stopped in front of the mirror. My knees were bleeding and I was already starting to bruise on my legs. I also had a small bump forming above my right eyebrow but other than that I seemed to be in good shape.
I finished cleaning up and returned to my dad. We left the hotel and saw that the parking garage was no longer on lock-down. We shuffled back up the street and rented our car.
It wasn't until I got home and saw my mom that I started to cry. The realization of what could have happened came rushing down my face.