I ran two miles without shoes on. The weather was freezing, barely reaching 28 degrees, and it was February. The cold ice stung my skin with every step, but I did not care. I was just terrified. I did not have time to feel the pain in my feet. Escape was only my focus. I was running to the police station because my ex-husband was coming after me. I was not running for exercise or fun. I was running to survive.
Two nights before that, we had a terrible fight. We argued about the kids, money, social media, his new girlfriend, and even why he always found faults in me. If you have ever lived with domestic violence, you know that fights like ours never end or lead to peace and resolution.
There are no peaceful nights. I cannot find a moment to take a breath or reflect. Just fear and pain. Holes in the walls. Broken glasses. Marked skin. Broken bones. After every fight, he felt better, but I never did.
That night after the run, I felt like I had died in my kitchen.
We had just hosted a birthday party for my son. My brother-in-law and sister left with their children, and I hid my son and stepdaughter in bed. I thought the night was over. But after everyone had gone to sleep, the monster that haunted me came alive again. This monster was not a ghost or something from a horror movie. It was my husband. It was the man who used to love me.
He pulled me by the hair, forced me to the ground, and asked if I wanted him to kill me. I was so broken that I said, “Yes.” And he almost did.
The next morning, I woke up on the bed, blood on my pillow, unable to move correctly. My ears hurt. My ribs hurt. My body was covered in marks, and he was asleep beside me like nothing had happened. His knuckles were bruised. My phone was broken. I felt trapped and hopeless. He apologized, but I was certain that this would happen again and again.
Just the day before, he had apologized for giving me a black eye and bought me a new phone. He promised we would have a nice day, go out for lunch, and spend time together. I felt hopeful. I put on makeup to cover my marks and smiled, trying to believe it could be better.
Early that day, I went out to get breakfast and a drink for him. But when I came back, he was waiting outside. As soon as I parked the car, he hit me with the can I bring him. He pulled my hair. I did not scream or struggle. I stayed quiet. Because I had learned to fight back, it only made things worse.
He kept dragging me toward the house. One of my shoes came off. When I bent down to fix it, he grabbed my throat. Something inside me suddenly broke. He had choked me before so many times that I had lost count. Sometimes, I passed out, woke up gagging, and even bleeding from my nose and eyes. He would pour cold water on me to wake me up. It felt like torture. It was torture.But this time was different. This time, I knew he was trying to kill me. As his grip tightened, I dropped to the ground and ran barefoot, terrified, leaving my other shoe behind. He chased me into the street, shouting threats. He was faster and stronger than me, but I ran with everything I had. I was running for my life.
I made it to the police station. I waited outside, shaking and trying to steady my breathing. My phone vibrated inside my pocket; I did not even know I still had it. His texts kept coming. I blocked the number. I walked inside. I told the police everything. They took photos of my injuries. I called my sister and cried.
He was arrested at 12:07 p.m. on February 27, 2015.Since that day, I have felt so much pain. Healing is not easy. But I am free now.If you or someone you know is being hurt, although it is not physical, please seek help. This is not your fault. This is not love. You are enough. You deserve peace. You are not alone. It does get better. Be brave and take the first step.
