apologetic. He made promises about how it would never happen again. I believed him.”
With a distant look in his eye, Justin says, “They always promise.”
I don’t understand what’s happening with him. He’s gone from warm and comforting to distant, almost cold, “Hey,” I say.
He blinks a few times, and then looks at me.
“What’s going on over there?” I ask.
He looks reluctant, and then says, “Nothing. Go on.”
“By the time I was eight months pregnant, Kent wanted to take me away to Gulf Shores for a weekend. He set everything up, and surprised me when he came home from work. I was told to pack a small bag so we could leave immediately. The weekend seemed to go really well. He was kind, attentive, and passionate with me.
“On our last night there, he wanted to take me out for a ‘fancy’ dinner. I was trying to dress nice, but being the size of a house at the time, it was taking me too long. He got angry. As we were walking down the steps down from the B&B we were staying in, he pushed me. I don’t remember anything between being on the stairs and waking up in the ER. When I came to, Kent was talking in hushed tones with the doctors who were assuring him the baby was fine. I started crying when I saw him.”
I take a deep breath to steady myself. The hopelessness I’d felt for so long starts seeping back into my chest. “I told the nurse who was attending to me what happened. I told her I was afraid for my life and the life of my son. She seemed to believe me, but the doctor she reported to didn’t believe it at all. Kent had him convinced that he was worried about a head injury. They performed numerous tests and ultimately released us for the drive back home. Kent could not have turned into a better actor after that. The birth of Ethan put him on cloud nine. He was so happy that I got nearly a year without being belittled or beaten. However, that’s also about the time Kent started to lose his position at his company.
“There were layoffs, there was downsizing, and sales fell off. He was a salesman, and this was a bad deal for him. He spiraled. Kent was drunk every night of the week. He was violent and angry with me whenever he was drinking. I walked on eggshells all the time and made sure I had the house, baby, and dinner ready for his inspection and approval at all times.”
The memory gives me pause. “It was a hell I could not have imagined for myself. Eventually, Kent lost his job, and we were forced to sell the house and move into a trailer on some land his family owned. He was in such a perpetual messy state of existence that I had no hope.
Justin is sitting stock still, cradling the bottle of vodka as I continue, “One night, when Ethan was three, Kent came home high as a kite. I had suspected he was using meth. This confirmed it. I confronted him about being fucked up. I didn’t care about what he wanted anymore. I demanded a divorce. I told him I was done with his bullshit.
His response was to beat shit out of me. At one point during the fight, he hit me so hard I flew across the room into the bookcase. It knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, he was passed out on the couch surrounded by empty beer cans. Ethan had spent the night with my parents, so I knew he was safe.
“At first, I couldn’t move. I thought it was because of how hard he had hit me. I was taking a mental inventory of my body to see if anything was broken when I ran my hand across my stomach. I had been shot. I was bleeding a ton. The memory of the gun being fired came back to me. Initially, terror filled me, and then I thought to myself that I have two choices: I can lay here and die—give up and let go—or I can find some way to get on my feet and leave.
“That’s the only way I would survive is to leave. It took every ounce of courage and strength I had, but I did it. I got up and I ran. I ran across a field and through some woods until I came to an old country road. Usually, there is no one
With a distant look in his eye, Justin says, “They always promise.”
I don’t understand what’s happening with him. He’s gone from warm and comforting to distant, almost cold, “Hey,” I say.
He blinks a few times, and then looks at me.
“What’s going on over there?” I ask.
He looks reluctant, and then says, “Nothing. Go on.”
“By the time I was eight months pregnant, Kent wanted to take me away to Gulf Shores for a weekend. He set everything up, and surprised me when he came home from work. I was told to pack a small bag so we could leave immediately. The weekend seemed to go really well. He was kind, attentive, and passionate with me.
“On our last night there, he wanted to take me out for a ‘fancy’ dinner. I was trying to dress nice, but being the size of a house at the time, it was taking me too long. He got angry. As we were walking down the steps down from the B&B we were staying in, he pushed me. I don’t remember anything between being on the stairs and waking up in the ER. When I came to, Kent was talking in hushed tones with the doctors who were assuring him the baby was fine. I started crying when I saw him.”
I take a deep breath to steady myself. The hopelessness I’d felt for so long starts seeping back into my chest. “I told the nurse who was attending to me what happened. I told her I was afraid for my life and the life of my son. She seemed to believe me, but the doctor she reported to didn’t believe it at all. Kent had him convinced that he was worried about a head injury. They performed numerous tests and ultimately released us for the drive back home. Kent could not have turned into a better actor after that. The birth of Ethan put him on cloud nine. He was so happy that I got nearly a year without being belittled or beaten. However, that’s also about the time Kent started to lose his position at his company.
“There were layoffs, there was downsizing, and sales fell off. He was a salesman, and this was a bad deal for him. He spiraled. Kent was drunk every night of the week. He was violent and angry with me whenever he was drinking. I walked on eggshells all the time and made sure I had the house, baby, and dinner ready for his inspection and approval at all times.”
The memory gives me pause. “It was a hell I could not have imagined for myself. Eventually, Kent lost his job, and we were forced to sell the house and move into a trailer on some land his family owned. He was in such a perpetual messy state of existence that I had no hope.
Justin is sitting stock still, cradling the bottle of vodka as I continue, “One night, when Ethan was three, Kent came home high as a kite. I had suspected he was using meth. This confirmed it. I confronted him about being fucked up. I didn’t care about what he wanted anymore. I demanded a divorce. I told him I was done with his bullshit.
His response was to beat shit out of me. At one point during the fight, he hit me so hard I flew across the room into the bookcase. It knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, he was passed out on the couch surrounded by empty beer cans. Ethan had spent the night with my parents, so I knew he was safe.
“At first, I couldn’t move. I thought it was because of how hard he had hit me. I was taking a mental inventory of my body to see if anything was broken when I ran my hand across my stomach. I had been shot. I was bleeding a ton. The memory of the gun being fired came back to me. Initially, terror filled me, and then I thought to myself that I have two choices: I can lay here and die—give up and let go—or I can find some way to get on my feet and leave.
“That’s the only way I would survive is to leave. It took every ounce of courage and strength I had, but I did it. I got up and I ran. I ran across a field and through some woods until I came to an old country road. Usually, there is no one
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