I married young. Dropped out of college, fell pregnant and decided to start my life. I had met the perfect man. He was wonderful in every way. Charming, intelligent, handsome. He was everything they show you in movies. My family loved him, my friends were jealous of him. We married, our son was born, we moved a town over and started our lives as a family. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t.
Our son was born premature. He was a tiny 2 pounds 14 ounces when he was born at 28 weeks. Luckily he thrived in the neonatal ICU and was brought home a few weeks prior to his due date. As a new mom I was exhausted. All new moms have been there, the lack of sleep from 3 a.m. bottles is a exhausting. A week after we had brought our precious boy home, my husband offered to let me take a nap. An hour later I was woken up to him telling me I needed to get up. As I walked into the room I noticed a large bright pink bruise on the side of my tiny 6 pound baby boy’s face. He quickly jumped to reach a cord out of my son’s swing and we both looked at each other and couldn’t believe we had let a cord fall into his swing. That was just the beginning.
Over the next six months there were a few more bruises that were easily explained away. Always a perfect explanation. Until the worst day of my life. The last week of May was a beautiful week. We spent it at the beach with our sweet boy and a friend. We had a great time.
The worst day of my life? June second. While my husband was at work, my mom and I rushed my son to the ER with what we thought was a bug bite. A scab right over the side of his head and a look in his eye that just wasn’t right. When the doctor came into the room to inform me that my son had suffered multiple skull fractures and a bleed on top of the skull, I fell to pieces. I still to this day do not even recall hearing the words come out of her mouth. We were rushed to a near by hospital and my husband met me with the biggest look of confusion and sadness. After much debate about it he declared that his grandmother had to have dropped our son the day before. I never in a million years thought that my loving husband would ever hurt his child. Until I knew better.
We told exactly that to law enforcement and child protective services. They took what my husband said and believed it without any form of investigation. No questions asked. A white middle class man lying to law enforcement? Never! (Hence the sarcasm)
The following months were a struggle for me. I had to be put on anti depressants, I was confused as to how my child had been hurt, and in the back of my head I knew something was wrong.
A few days before Thanksgiving I woke my son up to find a bite mark on his face and bruises on the bottoms of his feet. When questioned my husband claimed they must have come from day care and insisted we unenroll our son. We did.
January 6th, 2021 is a day I will never forget. My worst fears came to light. That little voice in the back of my head wouldn’t stop. I knew something was wrong. I asked my husband to take a polygraph. When he refused, I knew the truth. Sitting on our back porch he looked me in the eyes and told me he was sick and asked for my help. The next ten minutes I listened to the horror he had put my precious boy through. Looking in his eyes, I knew. My worst fears had come to light. I fell in love with a monster.
As he was rambling, I felt a cold chill to over my body. I knew I had to leave. I told him I needed to grab something out of our house and I was coming back. I quickly jumped up. When I reached for my keys, I realized he was behind me. The next twenty minutes are a blur. I remember trying to get into my car and he was blocking the car door with his body. Finally I was able to convince him I would let him come with me. As he reached for the back door, I jumped in. The next fifteen minutes I spent struggling to free myself from him. After struggling to pull me out the car, I finally kicked him and was able to get away. 911 was dialed and heard the whole ordeal.
The sad part? No arrests were ever made. Our society protects abusers. We left that night and never looked back. I still struggle daily. How did I love a monster? Was I weak? How did he find me? How did he prevent me from protecting my child? These are the questions I ponder daily.
I loved a monster, but now I’m free. My precious boy is free. We are finally free.
