I was 16 when I met the man who turned my fairy tale into a horror story. The first time he put his hands on me I was 17 and pregnant with our daughter Rilee. We got into a disagreement, and he slammed me into our bedroom door and dragged me out of the house by my feet into the rain. I left and said I was never going back. But he convinced me it was a mistake, and it would never happen again, so we got back together. Then I caught him cheating on me. When I tried to leave, he threw me to the ground and kicked me. The choking, the hitting, the kicking, the biting, the violence, the pain. The mental toll continued. But the hardest one of all was when he beat me and strangled me so badly in our apartment that I took my daughter and ran — and he continued to beat me on the side of the road while I held tightly to her in her car seat. I went to the hospital that day. A nurse told me that 75% of my body was bruised, old and new, and that if I went back again, it would be the last time.
“But, honestly, enough about him. This isn’t his story, it’s mine. I’m a survivor, and let me tell you what, I fought hard to get away and give my daughter the life she deserves. That’s when I met the man who turned my horror story into a fairy tale. He became the father I prayed for for my daughter. A year and a half ago, we welcomed our son, and that baby girl I ran with is now 8 — healthy and thriving. My story isn’t about pain and sorrow; it’s about the beauty on the other side when you finally say ‘enough’ and leave. There is a light at the end of the darkness.
Every minute, approximately 20 people in the United States are physically abused by an intimate partner. That’s more than 10 million victims annually. (Data reported widely by national advocacy groups.) Let that sink in — 10 million Autumns. Her story is not unique; it’s part of a pervasive crisis affecting millions, including my Jessie, who lost her life.
