A Very Wicked Man

You told me I was worth my weight in gold, a priceless diamond. Yet behind those words, the beatings I endured spoke a different truth. The comments you made cut deep, leaving me shattered. I hid my bruises from my dad, covering the pain that echoed in fractured bones. My brother would have fought you, would have killed you if he had only known.

There were times I sat in my doctor's office, tears streaming down my face. He listened and urged me to leave fast, but I ignored him. All I thought I needed was something to calm my nerves. You threw food against the walls if I made it wrong.

I still remember my 18th birthday so clearly—watching you kiss another woman you brought to my party. When I complained, you beat me in the bedroom, kicking and dragging me by my hair.

One night, I found the courage to walk the dark lane to my sister's house at 2 AM. I pushed a pram with my little girl wrapped in a blanket sitting on top. I walked two miles, the night was pitch black. When I got there, I knocked on her door, crying. She promised not to say anything to her husband, who was working nights. He would have defended me, protected me from you.

I remember the way you burnt my chest with your lit cigarette. I walked in the snow in sandles, you wouldn’t buy me boots. It was the women you made no secret of going with that hurt. They where supposed to be my friends.

I worked and gave every penny to you. you bought me tulips for my birthday. You fancy bit got perfume, and whisky. I didn’t drink. You would break the furniture up. I was a shamed by things you did. So many night ill in bed looking after my two little girls, even though I was ill. Then dad would call and I would pretended I was ok. If I had been crying, I would say I had a cold.

For 14 years, from the time I was 15 until I turned 29, you mentally broke me. Then you chose the easy way out and died. I found a new partner, a man who treats me better than you ever did. We’re still together now.

But I often wonder, how could you take a 15-year-old girl and ruin her life? And then just die, leaving everything behind as if it were all over for you? My heart, mind, and soul are still broken, and I think they always will be. Even the love of a good man can’t erase the marks you left on my heart and in my mind.

Suppose I will always be broken, deep down. Nothing can erase this nightmare of a wicked man. Not even true love. Years go by, counseling and talking never helps. You feel degraded and hate talking about being abused, wondering what people think of you. One good thing was I protected my two little girls always. He was seldom home anyway as he would go to casinos from work at 2 AM in the morning or to some slumber party house. Usually, he'd come home at 8 AM drunk, leaving the car badly parked up and the driver's door wide open. The thing was, I loved him and could not understand why he liked to hurt me. One night I woke up, his hands were around my neck. I screamed and jumped up crying; he laughed, saying he was joking. I often wonder, was he joking? Life is hard, but when you're scared, it’s even harder, a struggle in shadows, with hope flickering dimly, always holding onto the love for my girls even when the nights feel endless.

A True Story ❤️💔❤️