The day I escaped domestic violence and the night burned into my memory.

Warning: This article is a detailed account of how my daughter and I escaped domestic abuse.

@danilo.alvesd

It was past midnight, I was lying with my daughter in her bed, holding her in a way so I could move quickly and use my back to shield her if any hits would come. He kept coming in and out, growing more agitated with each time.

I prayed I wouldn’t give myself away.

Sometimes, when he came in, he would whisper in my ear what he wanted to do to me. I could smell the faint scent of liquor grow stronger each time he whispered, and at other times, he would stand over me watching, breathing as though he had run a marathon.

I still don’t know to this day if he believed I was awake or not, but it held off his demons, at least being passive I wasn’t giving him what he wanted.

Somehow, I managed to be perfectly still. I knew our lives that night depended on that stillness. His anger and agitation were palatable in the air. I knew we were in danger in a way we had never been before. I knew death could be just a matter of hours or days, not weeks or months.

The second to last time he came in, he had a letter for me. he dared to slip it past my shirt into my bra, groping and fondling me along the way, and then he patted it down like you would pat an annoying child on the head.

But he didn’t leave.

He became very quiet and still this time around, with no random pacing, whispered words, or mumbling. I grew more anxious and started to get sick to my stomach, and then I heard sounds that I recognized too well: he was relieving himself of pent-up sexual urges.

After he was done, I heard my daughter’s door close and then the front door slam. I quickly located the spot on the floor where he had relieved himself, I dry heaved as quietly as possible.

I briefly read his letter, it was a “love” letter, one meant to further manipulate and terrify me. He let me know it was my fault that he had become angry earlier in the day when he threw me into the wall and stabbed me with a meat fork.

I tossed the letter aside, not bothering to finish listening to his bullshit.

I quietly got out of bed and kept myself low to the floor. I knew he was outside, even though I heard the truck leave. Everything in my gut told me he was still out there.

I went from window to window while also searching for my keys. I found them on the table, a place he never let them be before. It was a trap, I confirmed this when I went to the living room window and spotted him parked to the side behind a row of trees.

I knew that to try and leave that night would result in something I was not prepared for.

But I was prepared to leave. For weeks, I had been setting up a plan, a plan that included my daughter's help. I carefully hid away money, social security cards, birth certificates, and phone numbers and had secret stashes of clothing, photos, and keepsakes ready to go.

But tonight was not the night, a voice told me, “Not yet. Tomorrow is coming.”

He had started sensing my withdrawal, he knew I was done and was using fear and terror at that point to beat me down. But my daughter and I had also been talking, we were prepared, and we both understood that it had to be very public when we left; it was the only way to survive.

He eventually did come back, I was back in bed with my daughter, but this time with all those documents and what little money I had tucked carefully away in cut-out pockets in my bag and coat.

I had taken his letter and placed it back in my bra, I was perfectly still again while he stood over me, whispering words I won’t repeat. The smell of liquor was stronger than before, and his words were more mumbled and incoherent.

It was only God who could have kept me so still when he brought his face down over mine, so close I could feel his nose touch my face.

He just stared at me, trying to comprehend this situation.

He grabbed his note, crumbled it up, and threw it at my face, I somehow didn’t flinch. He called me a bitch and he left once again, but this time I heard him lock the door.

And then all hell broke loose in the house. my daughter stirred for a moment when the first picture frame was thrown, and I quickly rolled over and covered her ears. I reached out with my right hand and found the butcher knife I took with me after getting the money and documents hidden, and I prayed.

For hours, the sounds came and went, the yelling and screaming, the taunting.

I never slept that night.

In the morning, when my daughter woke up. I looked at her and told her today is the day we leave, don’t say anything about whatever we see in the living room. She simply nodded and knew we were about to play the biggest game of our lives.

We were going to pretend to be happy.

I tentatively tried the door; he had unlocked it at some point. We went out into a destroyed house, and he was sitting at the table with coffee and breakfast ready. we sat down and pretended with everything we had because our lives depended on it.

He suggested out of the blue that we go into town; I can’t tell you how much my heart jumped with joy, we would be in public.

But then, my stomach dropped when he told me we would take both vehicles into town, he would take my daughter, and I’d follow in my car. He said he wanted me to leave my car at his mother’s so I wouldn’t get some “crazy” idea to sneak out and leave him in the middle of the night.

I didn’t argue because it would risk our chance to get into a town.

So, I did my due diligence and only slightly balked, but just enough for him to think he had won this battle.

We finished getting ready. He put my daughter in his truck, and I followed. We met at his mother’s and then did some shopping and went and got something to eat at a drive-through. We played family, while I was on the lookout for the right moment; it had to be today.

Except he insisted on carrying my daughter everywhere.

Then he suggested that we rent a movie and we could go home and watch a movie while listening to the popcorn go “pop pop pop.” He said this while looking right at me with his hand extended, how little kids play around with pretend guns.

In town, before it was sold, there used to be a Family Video on Main Street. this was our last chance, and I knew it. While we were in there, he was still carrying my daughter, but I whispered, “Be ready,” and she nodded.

On the way out, he was still carrying her. He put her in the truck and buckled her in (small cab truck, no back seat). She was squirming at this point and kicked a can of soda he had in the cupholder over; he started yelling and went around to the driver's side.

There was our moment, I said “NOW!”

I was panicked and my hands started shaking. I was trying to unbuckle her, and my hands were betraying me. He saw me, we locked eyes, and he knew what I was about to do.

Everything happened so fast.

All at once, I was being pushed out of the truck, just as her buckle came undone, all the while trying to keep my grip on my daughter’s arm. He grabbed her and pulled her back, and I started screaming as loud as I could, screaming for help. He managed to push me out again as he was trying to put the truck in reverse.

I only had one more chance of getting her out; I jumped in and pushed him back as I pulled her out, and we both went rolling on the pavement.

By then people started coming out and witnessed everything and he couldn’t do a damn thing to us anymore. He took off as the police were being called, and we were rushed into the movie store. I called my daughter’s grandfather to come and get her now, and I would explain later.

I learned while talking with the officer that they had already arrested him; whoever called gave them a description of his truck, and the police were looking almost immediately.

I told the officer everything that happened, even dug out my driver’s license from one of my hidden pockets and let them know he made me leave my car at his mother’s and that he took the keys from me.

The officer made one call, I remember this one: “Check that bastard for her car keys.”

They got my keys from him on the side of the road while he was sitting in the back of a squad car, and another officer brought them to me. They drove me to his mother’s, waited for me to get in my car, and followed me to my daughter’s grandfather’s.

A few days later, I had a small window and went and got our stashed items and whatever I could fit in the car, and I left everything else behind.

While going through some drawers, I found a gun, a 9 MM to be precise, with the serial number filed off. I had no idea there was a gun in the house, and then I saw it: a box of ammo with a yellow post-it note stuck on it, with my initials.

That was the bullet I dodged.

© Jane Isley

First published in Know They Self, Heal Thyself on Substack.