I don’t think I ever truly loved him, but when we met I was lost and seeking love through any means possible. He was wealthy and could offer me a good life, so I settled. That turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. 

Before long I was pregnant and that’s when my prison sentence began. 

He hated me, nearly as much as I hated him. The difference was that he got to play out his sick fantasies in his aggressive and violent behaviour, while I silently allowed him to strip me bare of anything that once made me a human being. 

Once my beautiful daughter was born, I was trapped, weak, and hopeless so I let his wicked games consume me while I day dreamed of a better life for me and my girl. 


Within 3 months I was pregnant again, my poor body aching for normality and freedom and strength. But it wasn’t to be. One blessing was the lack of beatings and sexual assaults while I was pregnant. 


He adored the two children. Our daughter Hallie was quiet and intelligent. She watched the world carefully. Our younger son Max was wild and carefree. He loved life and was always making noise. As Hallie turned 6, Max turned 5, so they knew what was going on in our secretive home. They both loved their father, but hated what he was doing to me. We were so close us three. We would snuggle up every night and ready books, escaping our reality for just a moment. We played games, and cooked, and danced. Everything was an attempt to escape. Watching how scared they were every time he put his hands on me, was heartbreaking and another evil blow. One day I would make sure their beautiful blue eyes, never saw him hurt me again. 


Once the children started school, I began to think carefully about our escape. I had more freedom to move, and planned our disappearance like I was going to war. 

I had secret bags, stashes of money, extra car keys cut, and new SIM cards hidden carefully in my clothes. The plan was to keep the children off sick one Monday and make a dash after he left for work. I had it planned down to the last detail.


Everything was in place and the time had come. Today was the day we were executing the plan. I went into the kids room.


“Good morning you two.” I whispered.

“Stay in bed today. We are having a pyjama day. If Daddy asks, tell him you feel sick!” They both squealed quietly with excitement. 

Adrenaline started to course through my body, hands clammy and breath shallow. This was it. We were going to do it! 


My husband was sat at the dining table having a coffee.

“Why aren’t the kids up for school?” He barked.


“They are sick. so I’ll keep them home today.” My voice was quiet and timid. I was trying to hide my fear. He continued looking at his phone while sipping his coffee. 


After what felt like a lifetime of me faffing around pretending to wash up and sort washing from the dryer, he went upstairs to say goodbye to the kids. When he returned he left without speaking to me. This was normal. 


As I head his car pull out of the drive, my heart began to race. I started to go round the house, shaking as I collected all the secret parcels and pouches of hidden things. I took the kids their rucksacks and told them to fill them with their favourite books and toys. I told them we were going on a secret trip for the day. 


“Don’t leave your rooms until I come for you, just in case Daddy comes back.” I tried to calm my nerves. 


I was packed and ready. All the bags by the door ready to load into the car, the kids were in their room getting dressed and packing their last bits Clueless to what was really happening. I couldn’t let my thoughts linger on them loosing their bedrooms and clothes, moving school and never seeing their best friends again. It sent cold shocks through my veins.


That’s when I heard the gut wrenching sound of tyres nonchalantly pushing the gravel aside in the drive way. 


“Fuck! He’s back.” I whispered to myself as I looked around at all the incriminating evidence. Why the hell was he back?


With that the front door swung open with an almighty thud! He stormed in and took in the scene before him.


“Where the FUCK do you lot think you’re going?” He screamed at me. My brain couldn’t function through sheer terror. 


The next thing I knew I was running up the stairs away from him. 

As we reached the top he grabbed my hair stopping me in my tracks. I swung round and he slapped me to the floor. 

As he came toward me, I kicked him with both legs and watched as he tumbled down the stairs like a rag doll with a huge almighty clunk of his head as he landed. 


I stood looking at his lifeless body wondering if this was a game. Was he pretending? But he didn’t move. 


I began to panic, as blood started to seep from the back of his head across my beautiful cream carpets. I had to calm myself down before checking his pulse and finding him still alive. I called an ambulance. Trembling. 



Only he and I knew what happened here, and he was currently in a seriously bad way. Concussion could easily be blamed for his faulty recollection of events should he wake up. 


“He fell down the stairs.” I cried as they arrived. “I was in the shower and when I came out he was like this!” I prayed my false tears were convincing enough. 


By this point the kids had emerged from their rooms, shaken and crying. 

“Is daddy dead?” Max asked with tears in his eyes.

“No sweetheart. He is going to be ok.” I lied.


We followed the ambulance to the hospital, all the while my head racing at what had just happened. Part of me was ecstatic that he might be gone forever, and another part was petrified I would get found out.