They say the first time a man hits you, it changes something inside you forever.
They're right.
That night, the storm outside wasn't nearly as violent as the storm brewing inside me. The clock on the wall ticked louder with every passing second. Midnight… then 1 a.m… then 2 a.m. The house was suffocatingly quiet, except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the sound of my shallow breathing.
My hands rested protectively over my growing belly. It wasn't even that big yet, but it felt like the only thing in the world that was mine—my only source of warmth, my only reason to keep sitting there, waiting.
The door slammed open.
The loud bang echoed through the living room like a gunshot.
I jumped to my feet, my heart thundering against my ribs. And there he was—Steve.
But this wasn't the man I had fallen in love with. His face was flushed from alcohol, his hair disheveled, his shirt stained with something I didn't want to know. His eyes… God, his eyes didn't even look at me. They were distant, glazed over, as if I wasn't even there.
He tossed his keys onto the table with a loud clatter, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto the couch like it was any other night.
I swallowed hard, my voice trembling when I finally dared to speak.
"Steve… where have you been?"
No response.
My throat tightened, and my eyes welled up with tears. I had waited for him for two nights. Alone. Scared. Sick.
"You've been gone for two days," I said again, my voice cracking.
His head lolled back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded. "Why do you always have to start a fight the second I walk in?" he slurred, his words thick with resentment.
That was it. Something inside me snapped.
For the first time, I didn't stay silent.
"Start a fight? Steve, I'm pregnant! I've been vomiting day and night, going to the hospital alone, crying myself to sleep waiting for you! Do you even care?"
His eyes snapped open.
In an instant, he was on his feet. The sudden movement made me stumble back in fear. His fists clenched, his jaw tight, and for a moment, his face twisted into something monstrous—something I had never seen before.
And then it happened.
His hand came down hard across my face.
The sound of the slap echoed through the room.
I felt it before I even processed what had happened. A white-hot sting exploded across my cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I stumbled back, my hand flying to my face, my body hitting the wall with a sickening thud.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
I just stood there, frozen, my mind completely blank except for one overwhelming thought:
"He hit me. He actually hit me."
My legs felt like they would give out at any moment. My heart pounded so violently it hurt. Tears blurred my vision, but my eyes refused to close—I needed to see this man. I needed to understand how the person I loved… the person I thought would protect me… could do this.
Steve stood there, chest heaving, his eyes suddenly filled with regret—but it was shallow, almost rehearsed.
"I… I didn't mean to," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You just—why do you always have to push me like this?"
I tasted blood again as I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But all I could do was stand there, one hand on my bruised cheek, the other protectively cradling my belly.
And the most horrifying part?
Somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered…
"Maybe this was my fault. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed him. Maybe if I had stayed quiet, this wouldn't have happened."
That night, I sat in the bathroom, my face swollen and burning, my reflection in the cracked mirror barely recognizable.
I pressed a cold cloth against my cheek, rocking back and forth like a child lost in the dark.
Tears fell silently as I whispered over and over again, "It's okay, baby… Mommy's okay. Don't worry… Mommy's okay."
But I wasn't.
I was anything but okay.
I looked down at my belly and made a promise I wasn't sure I was brave enough to keep:
"One day, I'll get us out of here. I don't know how… but I will."
And even as my body ached and my heart broke into pieces, I held onto that promise like it was the only thing keeping me alive.
My mind refused to accept what just happened.
No… this isn't Steve. He's the man who once held my hand under the stars and promised me forever. The man who kissed my forehead and said he would protect me from the world. The same man who told me he couldn't live without me.
Where was that Steve now?
The man standing in front of me—his chest heaving with anger, his eyes dark and unfamiliar—felt like a stranger.
A cruel, terrifying stranger.
I clutched my cheek, the sting burning deep into my skin as if it had branded me. But the pain in my heart was far worse.
I remembered the way he used to call me "his angel."
"Baby, no matter what happens, I'll always take care of you," he once whispered as we watched fireworks light up the night sky. Back then, I believed him. I believed every word that spilled from his sweet-talking mouth.
We had dreams together once. Late nights filled with whispered plans of starting a family, traveling the world, growing old side by side.
What happened to those promises, Steve?
How did we get from that magical night… to this?
I pressed my back harder against the cold wall, my knees trembling, struggling to keep myself upright. The baby moved faintly inside me, and that simple, fragile life was the only thing that brought me back from the brink of collapsing completely.
"I'm sorry," I mouthed silently to my unborn child. "I should have seen this coming. I should have protected you."
Steve stood there, pacing now, running his hands through his hair like a man who regretted what he did—but only because it happened, not because he truly understood the weight of it.
And then, as if nothing had happened, he threw himself back onto the couch and muttered, "Don't make me do that again."
Like it was my fault.
Like I had caused this.
I sat in the bathroom for hours that night, the lights off, the house plunged into darkness. My mind kept replaying his hand flying across my face. The sharp sound of skin against skin echoed in my head, over and over again like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
I pressed my palm against my swollen cheek, my tears soaking the thin fabric of my nightdress.
And yet, through all that pain, a terrifying thought kept repeating in my mind:
"If I can't survive this for myself… I have to survive it for my child."
Because what else did I have left?
I was too afraid to leave.Too ashamed to tell anyone.Too lost to believe I deserved better.
But deep down, in the faintest, quietest part of my heart… something still refused to die.
Hope.
Tiny, barely breathing, but it was there.
And it whispered to me through my tears:
"One day… one day, you will walk away from this. And when you do, you'll never look back."