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She'd been waiting anxiously for this doctor's appointment for weeks. Her third pregnancy in as many years, but the first she'd been able to carry past the second month. Ed had told her again and again what a failure she was as a wife, to not be able to do the one thing he said every woman should be able to do. It wasn't her fault; she'd taken care of herself in every way possible, but the others had still miscarried, much to her sorrow. Losing her babies had felt worse than the beatings Ed had given her as a result.
She didn't care what the sex of this one was, but she knew Ed did. He wanted a son to carry on his name, and he said one “worthless woman” in the house was more than enough. She was afraid of what he might do if she failed at that, too. The comforting whir of the baby's heartbeat wasn't enough to keep her calm when the doctor told her it was a girl.
She hid her fear and disappointment well and managed to keep her composure until she got to her car, where she broke down in heaving sobs. Boy or girl, she wanted this baby so desperately. She'd wanted to be a mother as long as she could remember, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing this one too. She knew Ed would be furious, and she prayed for the strength to protect her daughter at all costs.
He was drunk when he came home, later than she'd anticipated. She hurried to heat up his dinner, knowing that his reaction would be ten times worse if he was already mad at her. Him being drunk was already a strike against her. When he was sober his mood could easily go either way if she tried hard enough to sway him, but he lost all rationality when he was drinking. She'd have to tread lightly. She waited until he was finished eating before broaching the subject.
“I saw Dr. Collins today,” she said, reaching for his empty plate. He grabbed her wrist before she could pick it up, squeezing it tightly. Her heart skipped a beat.
“And?”
She glanced up at him nervously, and quickly cast her eyes downward as she took in the look on his face. This would be bad.
“He says it's a girl.” His grip tightened on her wrist. “He could be wrong... I mean sometimes it's hard to tell.”
She could tell that wouldn't be enough to spare her, and sure enough he pulled her arm down sharply, bringing her face toward his.
“A girl?” he asked, voice dangerously calm.
She nodded meekly, and then braced herself as his free hand flew toward her face.
She found herself on the floor, her arms wrapped around her belly to protect it. He was looming over her, backlit by the kitchen light, and with his shadowy face and clenched fists he looked more terrifying than he ever had before. Maybe he seemed scarier because she had someone else to protect now, but she found herself trying to defend herself in a way that she hadn't bothered to do in years.
“Ed, please,” she said, pushing at his hands as he reached for her, “please don't hurt me. It isn't my fault.”
“Please don't hurt me,” he said in a mocking voice, “You're fucking pathetic, Carol. Can't you do anything right?”
She tried to reply, but his hands were closing around her throat and she couldn't speak anymore. It was all downhill from there.
She didn't know what time it was when she came to, but she could hear him snoring on the sofa in the living room. The kitchen floor was cold against her back. She winced as she sat up, but she wasn't as bad off as she feared. Her face and neck would be bruised she knew, and she was sore between her legs from him forcing himself upon her, but there was no blood, and she hoped that meant the baby was still ok. He'd done worse to her in the past, and she was grateful that she could even move. She rubbed a hand over her belly before reaching for her pants.
She tiptoed into the living room, afraid to wake him up, and stood in the darkness for a moment, watching him sleep. When she thought about that moment later in her life, she realized it was probably a very strange time to have an epiphany, but as she listened to his snores she realized that this was it. If she didn't do something, this would be her lot for the rest of her life.
Cooking dinner, and hoping it would be good enough for him. Having to pick her words carefully to avoid a beating. Living in terror of her daughter being hurt by her own father. Things were never going to get better. Ed would never be the husband she had dreamed of as a little girl. He was nothing but a cruel bully, and the reason for his cruelty wasn't that she was incapable of doing anything right, it was because he was incapable of seeing anything she did as right.
She suddenly felt like a wounded animal caught in a trap, ready to gnaw her own foot off to escape. It was like a dam had burst inside of her, and all the fear and desperation she'd bottled up over the years came flooding back. She had to get out before he killed her. She fled to their room, threw some bare essentials into a bag, and was walking out the front door before she realized she had nowhere to go.
She had no family, and they lived in a town small enough that there were no shelters of any kind. And it wasn't like she had any friends she could turn to; Ed had chased them all off one by one until she had none left.
She was crying by the time she reached the main road, the one that led out of town. Panic gripped her, and she didn't know what to do. How could she raise a baby on her own? She had no marketable skills, no money, and if she really went through with this, no home. Maybe if she could get to a bigger town she could find a women's shelter, or something, anything where she could find help. But she couldn't go back to Ed. She wouldn't.
She saw headlights approaching her, and threw out her thumb without hesitation.
She felt lucky that the first person she tried pulled over for her, but she hesitated when she got a better look. The truck was rusty and beat up, and the man who reached over to roll down the window seemed to be of the same stock. He was staring at her uncertainly when another man on a motorcycle pulled up to her side. He glanced sharply at the man in the truck, before giving her a lop-sided grin.
“Where you goin' to, little missy?” he asked her in a raspy voice.
“I don't care,” she said, realizing how true that was. Anything had to be better.
The man on the motorcycle eyed the bruises on her face, glanced at her belly, and then shrugged. He pushed forward on his bike until he was level with the truck's passenger window. The man behind the wheel was staring at his hands on the wheel.
“If you want to play babysitter, Darylena, that's up to you,” the older man said, “but I ain't interested in some knocked-up broad.”
She blushed, and so did the man in the truck, though she could barely see it in the darkness.
“It ain't like that,” he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him.
“It never is,” said the other man, and he pushed his bike further forward without another word.
The man in the truck nodded at her, and she climbed in hesitantly, wondering what she'd just gotten herself into.