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February 14, 2023

Tonight did not go as expected. It’s been a while since our last date night, but it’s Valentine’s Day and we’ve been arguing so much. It’s good he’s trying. Our therapist said to call time-outs even if we haven’t solved the problem. Tonight it really was the waiter’s fault. Jared is usually very polite, but he was a little too flirty with me. At first we laughed it off, but then the waiter brought me a complimentary drink. I thought it was sweet, but Jared got upset and told him to take it back. When we finished eating, we noticed all the waiters were giving women free drinks. We asked a passing server if it was something special, and she said, “It’s Valentine’s Day—we’re giving all the ladies a featured cocktail tonight.” I felt so embarrassed, and I think he did, too.

When we got to the car, he apologized for making the waiter withdraw the drink but when I joked that at least someone had gotten me something for Valentine’s Day he got upset and we ended up arguing again. I thought tonight would be fun and romantic; instead, we didn’t speak the rest of the night. Around 3 a.m., he woke me up. I just rolled over and let him, hoping he wasn’t still upset—and because I missed him.

March 26, 2023

I’m pregnant. I was in shock when that little window read “pregnant” this morning. Jared had just left for work. My period was 3 weeks late but I didn’t want to panic. I’ve been stressed, so I thought it was just that—but then I started feeling sick in the mornings, and my breasts have been extremely sore for days. All day I brainstormed how to tell Jared. I honestly didn’t know how he’d react—we’ve had some rough months, but the past few weeks have been great. We even decided I should quit my job so I could focus more on the home and have dinner ready when he got home… and hopefully less to argue about. It’s really helped our relationship so far. So I decided to go to the mall and had them put “Baby Mitchell” on a onsie to break the news. Right before he arrived, I laid it on the edge of the bed and put the test next to it. When he saw it, he picked it up and stared at it in silence for what felt like forever, then hugged me. I asked if he was happy and he just nodded—then went downstairs to play video games. I’m so confused Right now. Does he not care? Or maybe just too tired right now to talk about it. I hope this is a good thing for us, maybe it will give us something to focus on other than fighting.

July 1, 2023

Our therapist told me something today that has left me thinking. At the end of our session, Jared went to the bathroom, and while we waited, she asked why I was wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer. I told her my pregnancy had triggered my eczema and I was self-conscious about the flare-ups. That was a lie but I knew she wouldn’t believe me if I told her the truth. I could tell she didn’t fully believe me because she shared a horrifying statistic with me. “Thirty percent of domestic abuse begins during pregnancy.” I wouldn’t label Jared as abusive—he loses his temper sometimes, just like I do. He had a rough childhood, and I understand him. But I can tell this pregnancy has been stressful for him, especially since we rely solely on his income. My first trimester was rough with all the symptoms, but Jared was attentive and catered to every craving. Once I felt like myself again, I threw myself into preparing the nursery—too much, it turned out. Two days before this session, I lost track of time assembling the changing table, and Jared got home before dinner was ready. He found me on the floor, yelled until I stood up, then grabbed my arm hard enough to leave a bruise. It was the first time he left a visible mark. I bruise easily and didn’t want to explain, so I stuck with long sleeves. Our therapist suggested I write down all of our arguments and keep my journal somewhere he can’t find it. I think she’s being a little paranoid but it can’t hurt to keep a record just in case I want to look back on it someday.

September 1, 2023

We spent Labor Day with Jared’s family today. My phone was on the table he was sitting at and while I was in the kitchen with his mom, an unknown number called. On the ride home, he questioned me about it. I swore I didn’t know who it was, but he didn’t believe me. He basically accused me of cheating on him-something he’s been adamant about lately. He thinks now that I’m pregnant men are more attracted to me which is outrageous. On top of his short temper lately, there’s now his jealousy. I keep telling myself it’s because of the baby—he’s worried and trying to be protective—but it doesn’t feel right. When we were dating and newly married, he was perfect: attentive, affectionate, charming. My parents loved him. We waited until marriage to move in together, and then it felt like everything changed. He made me get rid of all my apartment furniture, stopped cooking breakfast, and expected me to do his laundry and cleaning—while I still worked full time. Quitting my job helped, but after I got pregnant, he unraveled even more. I hardly go out or talk to friends and family now, and he still finds something to complain about: if I’m friendly with a cashier, stay too long on the phone with my brother, or even get a call from an unknown number apparently. I’ve tried to reassure him, but nothing helps. He arrives home, eats dinner at his computer, plays video games, then goes to bed. In the middle of the night, he sometimes wakes me, and I succumb to him because I miss our connection. He also made us stop couples therapy to save money. I’m due in a month, and I should feel happy and excited—but all I feel is worried and alone. I’ve been journaling like our ex-therapist told me, and I don’t know how I’ll juggle him and a newborn who demands all my attention. Maybe that’s why he’s like this—afraid the baby will take my attention away, like when I spent all evening in the nursery and skipped dinner. Maybe I just need to find balance so he doesn’t feel neglected.

December 25, 2023

It’s hard to journal with a newborn. My perfect baby girl was born November 3. I named her Eleanor after my grandmother. Eleanor Mitchell-Stone. I went behind Jared’s back to hyphenate her name, but it was worth the fight it caused after we left the hospital. Still, he was wonderful for the first month—attentive and loving like before. He took time off work so I could rest and spend time with Eleanor, while he handled everything else, even waking at night to check on us. When he returned to work earlier this month, our moms alternated staying with me until he got home. On days my mom was here, he’d call me almost every hour to “check in,” but never on days his mom was here. He insisted on installing a camera in our house “in case something happened while he was at work.” I fought him on it until he relented—only to find out that he’d set one up anyway. When we got back from spending Christmas at his parent’s house, I spotted a tiny blinking light above the microwave, with a perfect view of the kitchen, living room, and front door. I don’t know whether to say anything—or how that conversation would go. I should be grateful that he’s protective of us but this feels like too much. His jealousy has gotten a lot better although I don’t know if it’s just because I never leave the house but at least he’s given up on the stupid idea that there’s someone else. His temper lately seems even worse than before the baby was born. He stopped waking in the middle of night with the baby after he went back to work. We have a bassinet next to our bed but now he makes me take her to the living room to feed her while he’s sleeping. Tonight she was crying a lot and he came out of the bedroom and yelled at me to put her to sleep as if I hadn’t been trying for over an hour. When I said that, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and just said “well try harder” and went back to the bedroom. When she finally fell asleep, I thought about what our therapist had said to me and how she told me to write down every incident. I’ve been reading everything I wrote in the last few months. How did it get to this point?

February 15, 2024

I decided to leave him. This morning I stared at myself in the mirror, wondering how best to cover the bruise spreading down the left side of my face. Last night we were supposed to go out for Valentine’s Day, but our sitter cancelled at the last minute. My mom offered to watch Eleanor, but Jared insisted he didn’t want her here. I still don’t understand why he dislikes my mom’s help, and I’m fed up with it. We got into a huge fight and when I said I wanted to go stay with my mom, he slapped me across the face, then grabbed my cheek and squeezed so hard I thought he’d break my jaw. He yelled that I was the worst thing to ever happen to him, accused me of taking advantage of him, and again claimed I’d cheated while I was pregnant. I had no words. One minute we were getting ready for a date and the next, he was hitting me. He only let go when Eleanor started crying, telling me to “shut her up.” That was the first time I felt truly afraid of him. Not for what he could do to me, but that he could be capable of hurting her. As I rocked her back to sleep, I realized I couldn’t let her grow up with him. During my entire pregnancy, I wasn’t happy—but I was hopeful. Hopeful things would improve after she arrived. Hopeful he’d be better for her. Now I’m not sure that will ever happen. I don’t want to break up my family or be a single mom—I have no job or savings. How will I care for her? This morning, he left for work telling me to cover the bruise before his mom came over. That’s when I knew I didn’t just grow afraid of him—I’d grown to hate him. I don’t know how I’ll manage, but I know I have to. For Eleanor.

June 13 2054

I close the journal and look at the group of women before me—mostly worried faces, some curious.

“That was the last entry she wrote,” I say. “Any thoughts?”

A woman raises her hand; I nod to her.

“It seems like it took her a while to realize her husband was an asshole.”

The group laughs.

“That’s true. Sometimes we dismiss the signs until it’s too late.”

“So what happened to her? Do you know her?”

“No—I never met her. But I do want to share some statistics.”

They sit up straighter.

“One in three women worldwide experience physical or sexual violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime. In the U.S., three women per day are killed by a current or former partner, and over 50 percent of female homicide victims fall in this group. Aside from that, the most dangerous time for someone in an abusive relationship is when they try to leave. That proved true for Lorena Stone. When she tried to leave with her baby, her husband killed her. Police recovered her journal a few months later.”

“What happened to the baby?” someone asks.

“Thankfully she survived and was placed in her grandparents’ custody. She’ll be 31 this year.”

I’m packing my bag when the shelter’s director approaches.

“Thank you for coming today. These women need all the support they can get. Most of them leave her and go back to their abusers. If we help even one make a different choice, we’ve made a difference.”

I hug her. As I head for the door, she calls out:

“Oh, and Eleanor?”

I turn. She smiles.

“She would be so proud of you.”