Startled into action by the crying coming from behind the closed door, the woman who had been sitting on the doorstep stood up briskly. In two short steps, she was pounding aggressively on the door.
The outdoor lighting cast its glow on her from its vantage position illuminating the fast-swelling black eye on her battered face. She was shouting at someone on the other side of the door as she continued pounding. She stopped suddenly to press her body against the door as she pleaded repeatedly in a loud voice.
“Please do not hurt my baby girl. I beg you, let me in. Please.”
Silent again, she pressed her ears against the door. A raised male voice shut the crying girl up harshly. The crying stopped for a little while then intensified as it resumed. The girl’s cries faded slowly, sounding distant as if she was being moved into an inner part of the house.
Frantic, the woman pushed against the closed door as though hoping it would give way by chance. Defeated and out of breath, she glided down until she was sitting on the bare floor. Next to her was a door mat which had imprinted on it, “welcome to our happy home”.
In a jerky movement, crying and mumbling inaudibly, she searched her jean pocket until she produced a complimentary card. Her hands went into her pockets again, this time producing a small sized phone. With barely stable hands, she dialed a number from the card then lifted the phone to her ear.
“This is Priscilla. Do you remember me?” After a brief pause, she continued, “Yes. I’m sorry I lied to you. He has my little girl with him inside the house. I’m scared of what he might do to her. He threw me outside. He tried to strangle me. Help me please. I am ready. I will come to you tomorrow.”
She listened on for a bit to the person on the other end then cut the connection.
The chilly weather finally penetrated Priscilla’s consciousness rousing her from a fitful night sleep. She lay still to take in her surrounding but was quickly reminded by the cold hard floor beneath her. Bolting upright, she made for the door which gave at her first shove against it almost toppling her.
Priscilla walked in cautiously. The house seemed empty. Quickly, she rushed to her daughter’s room to find her fast asleep in bed, cuddled up tightly. She realized she had been holding her breath and heaved a sigh of relief. With no time to waste if her plans would push through, she softly shook the sleeping girl awake. The dried tear stains on the pretty face made her heart squeeze painfully in her chest.
“Amanda baby, it’s time to wake up”
Amanda rubbed her eyes before opening them. On seeing her mum, she went for a tight hug crying anew. Priscilla calmed her down as she carried her into the bathroom explaining that they had to get ready to go out. She fought to hold back tears in a fruitless bid not to alarm her little girl as she dried her with a towel. She dressed her up quickly, grabbed her keys and stormed out of the house carrying her worried daughter.
In the car, Priscilla dialed the number again amidst tears, “Hello. Are you there yet? He hurt my baby. Yes, I am on my way”.
Dorcas, an elderly nurse in St. Martin’s Hospital sat across from Priscilla in a small office room. She watched her intently as she waited.
Priscilla had been rocking her sleeping five year old daughter for over thirty minutes while staring into space. Dorcas understood her seeming reluctance to put Amanda down on the makeshift bed in the corner of the office. She understood Priscilla’s need to now more than ever, protect and hold her daughter close. How could she not?
The nurse looked Priscilla over. She looked worse for wear, very tired to say the least. Her right eye was swollen shut and her unkempt hair fell over her forehead in disarray. She still had yesterday’s clothes on, except for the absence of the burgundy colored jacket and dark sunglasses. Her light complexioned skin made the reddish finger marks around her throat very obvious, not to mention the bruises on other parts of her body left exposed by the sleeveless top on jean trousers she wore.
Dorcas knew she had guessed right when Priscilla had come into the hospital yesterday to treat injuries she claimed were gotten from tripping down the stairs. It had not been her first visit and what baffled Dorcas was that she only came in for similar cases. How clumsy could one be to keep tripping over the stairs that number of times?
As far as the nurse was concerned, this was not Priscilla’s regular hospital but one she came to under a cloak to privately treat and lick her wounds. Something had prompted her to engage the young woman when she had come in again for the umpteenth time. On impulse, she had offered her complimentary card when the younger woman had stuck to her staircase story.
“Should you ever want to talk, I am just a call away. Whatever you need, I can help. We can do it together.” She had said and gone on to add “Please” when Priscilla hesitated before taking the card and shoving it in her jean pocket.
Dorcas touched Priscilla’s arm tenderly in assurance. When the younger woman continued to stare at her blankly, she lifted the sleeping child from her arms and laid her on the makeshift bed. Returning, she touched Priscilla again and said, “Now we talk”.
Priscilla nodded.
The physical abuse had begun three months after she had married her husband, Charles. The emotional and verbal abuse had come way before then but she had hoped that marriage would change him.
The trouble started when she had fallen pregnant few months after they began dating. Charles hadn’t welcomed the news with enthusiasm and had told her without mincing words to do away with it but Priscilla couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was from a strong Catholic background and while she may have fallen into the sin of fornication while blinded by love, terminating her pregnancy was going too far. It was no different than commiting murder. She had been so certain God would never forgive her and that she would die on the table of abortion.
It had not been easy confiding in her unfriendly mother but she had done it and had suffered through the ill words her parents had thrown at her. She had brought shame to them and the only way out of it was to get her married before she began showing. Charles had not denied responsibility for the pregnancy when her parents had paid his a visit to call him out on it. The decision was made for them by both families and they were married soon after.
Charles had felt trapped and had let her know he hated being married to her by lashing out at every given opportunity.
Apparently, he had had no intention of marrying her and had only being playing the field with her until in his own words; “she had foolishly gotten herself pregnant”.
Marriage was not what Priscilla had dreamt it would be, at least her husband wasn’t. He carried on as if he hadn’t made those vows to her at the altar before God and man, sometimes bringing his women into their home. Priscilla had tried so hard to ignore until her pent-up anger had led to an outburst on one fateful night.
That night had been the first time he had hit her. It had led to Amanda’s premature delivery and in the weeks that followed, she had spent all her time in the hospital, never too far from the incubator, praying that her child would live for her. She had been so angry at herself for all those times she had wished her unborn child away.
She had named her ‘Amanda’ which meant ‘deserving of love’. Amanda had lived for her and she had thrown herself into showing her all the love she possibly could.
The abuse had continued through the years that had passed. Charles didn’t seem to care for anyone else but himself. It made her realize that she had really not known him at all in the few months they dated. He had no qualms providing for their material needs on the condition that she remained a stay-at-home mum, totally dependent on him.
Priscilla had however learnt how to work from home via the internet and to hide her moderate earnings from him. She just could not bear to totally leave her fate and that of her daughter in his controlling hands.
Priscilla had thought of leaving severally but her family, who she had spoken out to, would hear nothing of it. “God frowns at divorce”, “It is disgraceful for a woman to leave her marriage”; they would say. She had listened and kept calm, allowed herself be ridden until now.
Charles would pay. She would make sure of it, no matter whose ox was gored, he would pay very dearly. He had crossed the line and there was no returning from this.
Charles had defiled her daughter, her baby girl, his own blood! What sort of animal was he? Who in their right mind would defile a five year old? Who in their right mind would have carnal knowledge of a baby?
She knew exactly what her family and his would say when they hear of his shameful act. They would try to persuade her to sweep it under the carpet as they did everything else, to protect the family name. They would have the guts to say that doing so was for Amanda’s sake, to prevent the stigma from trailing her for the rest of her life but she knew better, had always known better. She had suppressed her knowledge and good judgment for far too long. Not this time.
Charles had gone too far and she would make him pay dearly, even if it was the last thing she ever did. Her family be damned if they don’t support her on this.
The elderly nurse had been listening as Priscilla let her anger out amidst tears. She watched now as the younger lady broke down in tears. Dorcas put a gentle hand on Priscilla’s shoulder in comfort, and then gathered her up for a warm hug when the crying persisted.
Dorcas perfectly understood Priscilla’s dilemma. This had been her story nearly two decades ago, except she had had no one to talk to or fight with her. She had broken free of the hell that had been her marriage all by herself. It had been a tough fight and she had almost won it if her husband had not died in an accident before it was over. Exposing him for who he really was, despite his respected status in their community had been her victory. It had taken great courage.
Courage.
Priscilla would no doubt need a huge dose of it for what was to come. Her resolve was strong, she had no doubt Priscilla would fight hard to protect her daughter. Ithat she wouldn’t have to do it alone. She and all Dorcas and all the people of diverse professions who made up her foundation would fight for and with her. They had evidence from the tests conducted on beautiful Amanda and more from her mother. They would win this. All this she told Priscilla then continued;
“First, we need to make a case and secure an arrest warrant for him. Are you ready?”
Priscilla sniffed, straightened her back and lifted her head high before replying.
“I was born ready.”
THE END
All images were obtained from pixabay.