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Part Two: Our Survivor Story

I am about to tell you the hardest, worst, most traumatic 2 weeks of my entire life. The events that occurred during these days have been played over and over in my mind to the point of exhaustion. I’ve gone through so much mentally, physically, and emotionally over the last 2.5 years that I came out the other side unable to even recognize the person I was when it all happened. Here is Part II of my Survivor Story:



On March 10, 2019 at 6:21 pm a handsome 8 lbs 1 oz baby boy was born. His name is Wells and he looked just like his Daddy. I don’t think in that moment I could fall anymore in love with his Dad but I did. Behind it all I was praying to God that he would be better. That we would be enough for him.





My son Wells was born Coombs +. This means that he had a blood incompatibility that attacks his liver. He was severely jaundice and his bilirubin levels were reaching to such high levels that he was at risk for mental deficits and even death. We were notified of this 4 short hours after taking Wells home for the first time. By 11:30 pm on March 11, 2019, Wells was admitted to the paediatric unit of our hospital. He spent 6 days almost consistently under the bilibed lights to lower his levels. I wasn’t able to cuddle and feed my baby like normal. It was hard on us both. I cried a lot. I was trying to heal. I was alone most of the time at the hospital. Our abuser would come and bring me food and stay for an hour or two but he would always find an excuse to go home for whatever reason. It was a really hard week. I barely slept. Wells barely slept. He wasn’t better by the end of the week but we were discharged home on March 16, 2019. We were ordered to get bloodwork every 24 hours to ensure his bili levels didn’t spike to critical levels again. I was, needless to say, on edge but completely happy to be home. Only to find out that while I was away, our abuser built a grow tent for marijuana next to the baby’s room. That was a battle I knew I wouldn’t win and I was way to tired to even mention it so I let it go.



On March 18, 2019 our abuser returned to work and I tried to make doctors appointments and blood draws and keep up with every day life. We were managing great. Our abuser's work week was going great. Our relationship was fine, although, we were both tired because a newborn doesn’t exactly mean sleep.


On March 23, 2019 our abuser was asked by my Dad to go to a charity event with my brother in laws. He never did like doing anything with my family but I encouraged him to go to have fun, network, and get out for the night. He reluctantly agreed. We arrived to my parents and I spent the night laughing and hanging out with my mom and sisters. Our abuser texted me around 10:30–11pm to pick him up. He had the car keys so he walked about 5 blocks back to my parents house to meet me. He arrived at my parents house in an odd mood. He started rambling about politics and gun control and was threatening to shoot people. It was very bizarre but I assumed he was drunk and asked him to leave. I got in the car and I started driving him home. One the way, he was rambling about how “men can’t be men anymore” and sticking up for his right to own guns. Whatever, I have heard this rant before and I basically ignored it. At one point, I pulled over on the side of the highway and told him that if he wouldn’t stop ranting and yelling with the newborn in the car, he can leave the vehicle. He shut up and we sat in silence for the last few kilometres home.


When we arrived home, I went to the bedroom with Wells to breastfeed him before bed. In the middle of our nursing session, our abuser comes into the room from the living room and starts yelling at me about how I’m a “nightmare” and how I am “stuck with him for the next 18 years”. I told him to leave me alone I think all I did was start crying. Here I am 13 days postpartum after having his son and he treats me like this. When the nursing session was done, I went to the living room and told him that if he doesn’t want to be with me he can leave. I was sobbing and he didn’t seem to care. He rolled his eyes and continued to stare at the TV. I went to bed exhausted and heartbroken.


At midnight, our abuser came to bed and he started trying to cuddle me. I told him to get off me and to leave me alone. That was when he started to restrain me. I hate being restrained. I don’t think anyone likes it. It’s a horrible feeling. I asked him to stop 5-10 times before I said “if you don’t stop restraining me, I am going to grab your junk and squeeze”. I gave him a 5 second countdown and did it. As soon as my hand touched him, he winded back and punched me right in the left side of my jaw. I was stunned and shocked. I immediately got up and went to sit at the side of the bed completely hysterical and sobbing at this point. He went around the bed and pulled my head up. He called me some sort of name, I don’t remember, but that’s when 3 hours of violence occurred.


For 3 solid hours, my abuser hit me across the face over and over and over again while screaming at me. I don’t remember what he was saying. I know it was anything but nice, though. At one point after around hit 20, I believe I blacked out because the next thing I know is that I woke up on the floor with my abuser standing over me. My face and jaw was completely swollen and my eyes were swelled shut. I tried to get up and our abuser hit me again as hard as he could and I fell to the ground. He then stepped over me and grabbed my sleeping newborn baby out of his bassinet next to my side of the bed. Our abuser looked at me and said “I am taking my son and you’re never going to see him again”. All I remember is that I grabbed his leg mercifully. I don’t know what my plan was but I knew I wasn’t leaving my baby with this monster. I grabbed tight and I said to our abuser:


“Please for the love of God, you can do anything you want to me but please oh my god, please don’t hurt my baby”


I don’t know what snapped in him at the point but he told me to go sit on the bed. From there, he handed me Wells and I don’t think I held a baby so tightly ever. I wanted him back inside me so he could be safe. I wanted us both to disappear. That last moment of the assault where I thought I lost my baby…it haunts me.


Our abuser took my phone and my car keys so I couldn’t leave or call anyone. I don’t think at that point I had the energy to do anything anyway. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at me with so much shame. I think all I said to him was “how the hell are we ever going to get past this?!?”. I don’t remember him answering. All I remember was how he was looking at me and how dilated his pupils were. I questioned him about his pupils but he just continued to stare at me saying nothing. He told me to come to bed and I don’t think I slept at all that night.


The next day, I looked in the mirror and I couldn’t bare to look at the damage that was done. My jaw was offset. My face was incredibly bruised and swollen to the point that I didn’t even look like myself. Our abuser started the day by making a huge breakfast and cleaning the house. He kept apologizing all day and saying how sorry he was and how it was never going to happen again. I stayed quiet. My heart was broken. Life as I knew it was done. I didn’t feel safe anymore with the person I loved. I don’t think I said a word to him all day. I tried to focus on my baby’s needs. He was still sick and needed me. He could sense the stress I was going through. He wasn’t eating. I was a wreck. But I stayed quiet because I knew if i didn’t, our abuser would erupt again.







He gave me my phone back at some point in the afternoon. I had a dozen texts from my mom, sisters, and friends. My mom asked me if my abuser was okay last night because of how aggressive he was when he left her house. I lied and said he was fine. My little sister was in town and wanted to come over to see me. I couldn’t let her see me like I was so I told her I wasn’t feeling good and needed to sleep. My mom sensed something wasn’t right but didn’t pry. She dropped off my daughter from a sleepover at her house and I asked my mom not to come in. She didn’t. I felt relief that no one would know. I felt relief that maybe this would all go away and I could have my family back. But I knew deep down that it was over. That I couldn’t trust the person I loved anymore. I didn’t feel safe.



On March 25, 2019….that was proven true again and I knew if I didn’t get out then, I would be murdered by the man I love.

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