I knew from the start that it was going to be tough, and that this was just the first step, but I had to keep going. I’d been tolerating the mental, physical and sexual abuse for four long years and it was no longer just my life that was at stake, it was also my son’s.
I grabbed the scooter keys and my hastily packed bag and ran out of the door. My son was already standing near my scooter with his school bag and essentials packed. We had stealthily slipped those out during my husband’s drunken stupor.
I handed the duplicate key to my father-in-law, who would use it to open the door later, and slipped out with my keys. All hell broke loose as soon as I locked the door from outside. He first started banging the door and then shouting obscenities and threats over my head from the balcony. The 8-year-old was terrified but we drove away…away to freedom from violence, abuse and oppression.