When I was in a relationship longer than any I’ve ever had, he’d force himself on me many nights. I was 18 and just a kid. He’d hold my throat against the wall and “threaten” to rape me. Like it often felt he did. I’d lie there and take it. Hoping he’d finish as soon as possible. Faking enthusiasm to make it happen sooner. The last time I slept with him voluntarily, less than coherent, outside on a picnic table after 5 years of abuse, he came inside of me. I asked him why. He spit on me and said “I HOPE you get pregnant, bitch. And walked away.
I’ve been an unsupported single mother ever since. Tired of the fights, I never did file for child support. Not even a brief text conversation was ever worth a little money every month.
I now have a beautiful 8 year old son. We live on the other side of the country now and he thinks I’ve won. He bathes in self pity but I rarely hear from him anyway. I pity my son.
But I’m engaged now to a man who wants him as his own. Would never hurt a fly, in fact would likely save one.
Maybe I won.
But my son…will never know the truth. He’ll wonder why his dad was never around. Why I decided to replace him.
I’ll never tell him about the bruises, the screaming, the crying, the lonely nights I’d wished I’d died. The police just wanting me to do what’s right.
Now I question my own happiness. Is it spiteful and selfish? I never gave an allegedly changed man a chance to make amends with the “lost other half of his heart”.