This is the sad truth.
But in my case, the abuser did not expect me to leave, nor to speak out.
I’ve said this time and time again, I was in an abusive relationship with my son’s father. Determined not to let my son grow up in this awful environment, I left his father when he was just twelve weeks old. No food. No money. No car. Just the clothes on our backs and a few other items.
I have no regrets. I am the one who bears the scars, inside and out. And as painful as they have been and some still are, I prefer to carry every drop of pain instead of my son. No child (or anyone else for that matter) should have to experience such trauma.
Now look at my little Munchkin. A feisty and happy little fellow.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.