Chapter 1
I want to stop crying, but it’s difficult. I look at my two little ones in my lap; they are only five years old and have already had to witness hell. My marriage was a blessing until my children were born. Thereafter, the wonderful husband who loved and pampered me disappeared. Just before the forty-five days of postpartum quarantine were over, I was forced to have relations with him because he couldn’t stand it any longer.
At that time, I took it as something normal and accepted it, but it was just the tip of the iceberg. From there, he began to pressure me. I was unable to refuse because, if I did, he would become violent. So violent that several times during the babies’ early years, I ran out almost naked into the street. It was always the same process: he would hurt me, and then he’d drop to his knees, begging for forgiveness.
I was scared, but I would rather not be a woman who lost her marriage and left her children without a father. I always stopped myself out of fear, thinking that I couldn’t be a good mother on my own. So, I kept enduring it and tried to get him to see a doctor.
He hit me a few times. In the end, we always returned to the same cycle, until the children turned four. Then he entirely changed. He became the exemplary husband again, but it was too late. The shame of years of enduring abuse had broken my heart, and I could no longer love him; I felt a total rejection towards him.
I decided it was time to leave. I gathered the courage and asked him for a divorce. For months, he cried and begged me not to leave him, not to break up the family. And again, he switched to bipolar mode. “I love you, but if you refuse, I’m Hulk.” One night, he asked me not to abandon him. The kids were almost five years old, and when I said never again that I didn’t love him, he lost his temper and gave me the last beating.
That was the end. I went to the police and reported him. He was under the false belief that, since we were married, that gave him rights over my body. The authorities detained him and showed him that it wasn’t the case. This helped me obtain the divorce. Thinking that everything would be over, I tried to move on with my life, but his family began harassing me. So, I decided to flee, just as my children turned five.
Now we’re on a train, traveling far away. We’ve been here for hours, but soon we’ll take a plane. I know it’s wrong to take a child away from their father; however, they saw what that animal did to me, and they’re scared of him. His family didn’t make it easy, either. I kissed them on their little heads to wake them up because we almost had to get off. I straighten their clothes and cover them up well. I was able to survive thanks to a cousin who helped me escape when she realized my situation. She bought the tickets and created the alibi for us to leave our city. Since they don’t know I’ve fled and that man is in jail, I still have a way to disappear.
After getting off the train, we’ll cross to another continent, first by plane, then continue by bus, trucks, and finally by plane again until we reach where I want to go. I’ve almost exhausted my money. I’ve been nearly robbed, but I’ve had some luck. When I arrive in the city, I look for a cheap rental—just one room for now—and I start seeking employment. I have to take the risk and leave the kids alone, locked up. I have no other option. Here, I don’t know anyone, and I can’t trust anyone.
Coincidentally, I found a job in a factory at night. It’s going to be tough, but at least I’ll have the mornings with the kids. The next day, I go out to find a school, and luckily, I discover one near where we live. I also bought two phones, so the kids can be reachable for me while I work.
I started that night. The work isn’t hard, though I’m anxious because they’re all alone. At least I know I left plenty of food, and every time I go to the bathroom, I call them. I know they were scared—they’re so little—but we have no other choice, and I feel like the worst mother in the world.
This situation lasted a few months. The money wasn’t much for the three of us, and every so often I had to skip meals, which made me lose weight. I found it ironic: for over five years, I tried to lose weight, but stress and my bad eating habits didn’t help. I endured comments like “careless fatty,” “hippo,” “whale,” “do your part,” “lose weight, and you’ll look better; it’s not that you can’t; you’re just lazy.” The funny part is that my ex liked me that way. Maybe that’s why I endured so much; I felt like he was the only support I had.
For years, I kept so many words like sad memories, filled with hatred, that they depressed me and filled me with insecurities. I knew that self-love comes first, but when you spend your life hearing things like “mediocre,” until you believe it, it becomes an idea buried in your mind. Even now, I thought I was useless. I’m still not a big deal, but at least I’m taking care of my children and moving forward.
Little by little, I’m gathering strength. I dare to do my hair and buy myself two decent outfits. I threw myself back into job hunting, and after a lot of walking, I finally got an opportunity at a design company as a receptionist. Not only that, I’m happy. At last, my babies won’t be left alone.
