MY JOURNEY TO BECOMING WHOLE

THE DAY I CHOSE US

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to domestic violence, child endangerment, miscarriage, and medical trauma. Reader discretion advised. Please prioritize your safety. If you are in danger, contact local authorities or a domestic violence helpline.

As time went by, things slowed down a bit.

I was in my second year at the catering school. Valeria was almost two years old, bright and talking. I enrolled her in a crèche where she could learn common words and sentences. Watching her sing rhymes was my only peace. Then again i was almost through with school.

One day Kelvin came back from the village. With one of the local dishes you make from scratch that can consume a whole day. “I want to have it as dinner,” he said.

I started making preparations for it.

At noon, he said, “I will be attending the women’s village meeting. You should come too.”

I told him I wouldn’t be going. “I have so much work to do at home,” I said. “The food you asked for. My assignments. Valeria.”

His face changed. “If I don’t see you there, you will see what I will do to you.”

I thought he was joking. Husbands say things when they’re angry.

He got back that evening with a visitor. A man I didn’t know.

Then it started.

He started beating me in the presence of the visitor. I managed to run and lock myself in the bedroom. I thought the door would protect me. I thought the visitor would stop him.

I was wrong on both counts.

Kelvin used a cutlass to break the door. The wood splintered. He continued the beating. His friend did not even come close to stop him, simply because Kelvin promised him a tricycle. My pain was worth a tricycle to them.

Then I heard her.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

Valeria came running. She was two years old. She started beating Kelvin’s leg with her small fists, telling him, “Leave my mummy alone! Leave my mummy!”

He turned. And he threw her.

Like she was a piece of paper. Like she was nothing.

I screamed. I rushed and caught my baby before she hit the ground. I held her to my chest and backed into a corner.

After that night, I reported him to my mom and elder brother. They came. They warned him not to try that again. He nodded. He apologized. For that day.

I got pregnant again months later. I miscarried it. I was bleeding, crying on the bathroom floor. He didn’t bother taking me to the hospital.

My mom came. She nursed me till I was better. She cooked. She cleaned. She held Valeria while I healed.

When my daughter turned six, her father didn’t care about it. No card. No “happy birthday.” Nothing.

So I took her to play in the amusement park. I bought lots of things for her — cotton candy, toys, a new dress. We laughed. We took pictures. We came back that same evening, tired and happy.

At night, Kelvin said, “There will be no birthdays in this house.”

I looked at him. I looked at Valeria sleeping with her new teddy bear.

“You lie,” I told him. “I will keep celebrating my daughter even if you are not interested.”

Two months later, I was pregnant again.

The first trimester was painful. Sharp pains that made me double over. I went for a scan alone.

The nurse looked at the screen and her face changed. “Wait here,” she said.

When the doctor came, he sat down. He was gentle.

“Mrs. Kelvin,” he said, “you have an ectopic pregnancy.”

I couldn’t understand what they meant by that.

He explained better. The baby was growing in the wrong place. In my tube. “You need surgery,” he said. “Urgent surgery. Or you will die.”

Die.

I put my hand on my stomach. Then I thought of Valeria. Six years old. Waiting for Mummy to come home from the hospital.

And I knew.

University or catering school, this marriage was still a cage.

And cages are meant to be broken.