I was 8 months pregnant with our third child. The two older children wanted to spend the night over to their grandmother’s house. It was such a relief because this meant Roger and I would finally get some alone time. I was ecstatic that we were able to have the house to ourselves before the baby was born. No one could have ever pictured what would happen next.
Here it is another argument unfolded and yet I can’t remember what the argument was about but I knew it ended with me afraid for my safety and the baby’s safety. It was pitch dark inside of our house. I remember Roger and I yelling at each other. (Very intense and very emotional) I ended up on the floor. Yes, a very 8 month pregnant woman on the floor. He mumbled something that sent me into defense mode. I knew I wasn’t able to fight back because I was worried for the safety of our baby. So I tried to leave the house. However, he wasn’t’ having that. Roger told me I wasn’t going to go anywhere , so he took my keys and took my phone so that I couldn’t call anyone. Really scared I began to scream. Hoping that my neighbors would take the hint and hear me. That made him even more angry. He picked me up and said “get your fat ass over here” “You aren’t going anywhere”. I had no way to leave, no one to call and it was dark. I was more afraid and worried about my unborn child more than myself. After crying and pleading for him to let me go. He finally sat me down on the floor .
Roger came yelling close to my face. I began crying because I had no clue why he was upset this time. I remember uttering the words ‘I’m tired of this’. This time I was tired of the arguing. I was tired of the yelling. I was tired of the abuse. I was tired. I held both of hands out talking to Roger. Those words I uttered pissed him off more than ever. In his mind, this meant I wanted to leave him. Before I knew it Roger bit my finger. My finger started dripping blood. A large hole surrounded the mid-top of my middle finger. I knew instantly it was a deep wound. There was no way I could not go to the hospital. If I went to the hospital, they would arrest Roger. My unborn child would be without a father. I knew I couldn’t stay here in this house, with him, alone. I had to leave. He finally gave me my phone back, handed me the car keys and told me I could go. He knew I probably needed medical attention.
I got in my car after 9:00pm and began driving. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t want to go to any family member’s house because I knew that in that moment, if they saw what happened they would be ready to kill. I had to go somewhere. I thought about my kids. I went to where my kids were, at my grandmother’s house. Luckily, she had already put both of them to bed so they had no clue that I came to her house for refuge. I slept on the couch and contemplated leaving Roger for good. I was no longer in love with him. I no longer cared. I didn’t even want to cook for him or clean up after him. I was mentally drained and physically tired. This cycle was never ending and I knew this wasn’t what I meant when I uttered the words for better or worse. My finger eventually healed without needing medical attention. The emotional scars has yet to heal. I’m glad that night our unborn child was safe.