I want to share my story anonymously to protect my identity, my violent boyfriend killed our baby and I want women who are with abusive men to see they don’t change because you’re pregnant.
If you stay in an abusive relationship you’re also putting your baby and children at risk.
If by sharing my story I help just 1 woman out there, that means my babies deaths stand for something.
I was only 16 when I met him and despite him being 40 I fell head over heels in love, the age gap made no difference and for the first year, we were blissfully happy.
Then things started to go wrong, he began drinking heavily and this always sparked arguments, alcohol made him angry. I tried to stay out the way.
In time, he became a violent and twisted thug and I feared him but I was too scared to leave him.
I knew I was pregnant before I took the test. I was terrified yet thought this baby could be the answer to our prayers, maybe a baby would change him?
I was 4 months pregnant when he went out on a works party, I stayed home and had an early night. I woke around 1.30am and there was no sign of him, I went downstairs hoping to find him passed out on the sofa, but he wasn’t there.
I was worried so I phoned him. He hurled abuse down the phone at me, I knew what was coming when he got home so I went back to bed.
I knew what was coming
It felt like a lifetime before I heard the front door slam shut and his footsteps pounding up the stairs, the bedroom door flew open and he grabbed me by the hair, dragged me off the bed onto the floor and pulled me, still by the hair down the stairs, across the living room and into the kitchen, where he dumped me on the kitchen floor, telling me that’s where I would be sleeping.
I wrapped my arms protectively around my bump I as lay shaking and cold on the hard floor tiles.
Over the coming weeks, he cut my hair and put padlocks on the kitchen.
Another drunken night out and another spent cowering, this time, he grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against the wall. I felt the pain as he struck my face but all I could think was hit my face, not my stomach.
I felt the pain as he struck my face but all I could think was hit my face, not my stomach.
He could hurt me but not our baby.
But the punches didn’t stop and as I fell to the floor he kept attacking me. I was screaming at him to stop. I was dragged to the top of the stairs and woke up at the bottom. I came round with a heavy head and heart. I ran.
I found a phone box and phoned 999. I was 6 months pregnant. The police arrived and I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I was given an emergency scan. Had our baby survived the vicious attack?
I was 6 months pregnant. The police arrived and I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I was given an emergency scan. Had our baby survived the vicious attack?
The police arrived and I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance.I was given an emergency scan. Had our baby survived the vicious attack?
I was given an emergency scan. Had our baby survived the vicious attack?
Had our baby survived the vicious attack?
I saw my baby girl on the screen, a wave of relief washed over me, there she was.She didn’t have a heartbeat.
But she didn’t have a heartbeat.
He killed our baby
I can’t even describe the feelings, I won’t try too because it wouldn’t be close to how I felt that day and every day after.
I was broken.
I would stay in the hospital and give birth that night. I was induced and gave birth to my baby alone, my precious little princess born at 2.11pm, weighing 3lbs 4oz, she was perfect.
I was scared to hold her but I did. They slowly placed my little girl into my arms, I burst into tears and told everyone to leave me alone as I wanted to spend some time with her.
A midwife arrived and placed something on the bed and left. I looked and saw a tiny little pink dress with built-in tights and a little pink cardigan, she had even brought me a nappy.
I could have hugged that lady forever and never let go.
When I checked my phone I had missed 14 texts and 19 missed calls all from him saying “where the fuck are you, I knew you were cheating on me”.
I was discharged from hospital and had to plan my daughters funeral.
With the hospitals help, I was placed in a women’s refuge.
In time, I gained the strength to accept what had happened and begin to rebuild my life. That sounds so easy in words yet it wasn’t, every day killed me.
Burying my daughter was like pulling my limbs off.
I saw him one day and as I backed away in fear he told me he didn’t want to hurt me and he was sorry he killed our baby, he hadn’t meant too.
It was the drink that made him that way and he said he was sorry and he wasn’t drinking now.
I went back to him
I wish I could say I knew what I was thinking but I can’t. I had lost my baby, given birth to my dead baby, I was sad and lonely and here he was promising to care and love me and I had nobody else.
Years past, he stuck to his word.
And there it was, another positive pregnancy test in my hand again.
He was working by this time and although he killed our baby and I would never forgive him for that he had never raised his hand to me since and he was remorseful for what had happened.
The pregnancy was easy, he was the doting father to be, came to every scan. Of course, I lived in fear, wondering when he would kick off and go back to his old ways.
Of course, I lived in fear, wondering when he would kick off and go back to his old ways.
Yet he was running me baths, running and fetching everything for me. At 7 months we knew we were having a little boy and we chose a name.
At 7 months we knew we were having a little boy and we chose a name.
I knew it wouldn’t last
I was almost 9 months pregnant the night he went to his friends, I went for a relaxing bath.
I phoned him, I don’t know why I was just afraid to be alone for too long being so close to my due date. He answered with ” For fuck sake what do you want”
He answered with ” For fuck sake what do you want”
My heart sank. I knew.
He killed our baby the first time around and I knew I had to protect our second child from hime.
I raced around grabbing all I could, throwing what I could into a bag. I couldn’t find my hospital notes and was pulling out drawers when I heard the front door slam shut. He was home.
He was home.
He saw I was trying to leave him, he wasn’t going to let me. I was flung against the wall. I closed my eyes, praying “Please God not again”.
I was flung against the wall. I closed my eyes, praying “Please God not again”.
I closed my eyes, praying “Please God not again”.
I broke free and raced to the bedroom, holding the door shut. He soon got in. I was grabbed, thrown, I hit my head on the bedside table. I got up somehow and ran.
I got up somehow and ran.
I had nowhere to run too so I phoned the police, who took me back to the women’s refuge where I had stayed and thankfully they helped me find a safe place to stay as they were full and they took me to the hospital.
My waters broke, my baby boy was coming.
Had he survived the attack?
Was I going to have to lose another baby?
My baby was born with internal bleeding, they needed to operate immediately.
One of his lungs had been punctured.
They did all they could, he fought hard but at 8 hours old I held him as he grew his angel wings and flew away from me.
15 years have now passed.
I have had no contact with the man who killed our baby girl and boy.
He may not have intentionally set out to hurt them but by attacking me so brutally, he did.
I have never forgotten Tamara and Connor, they are always in my heart.
Thank you for reading my story, by talking about them it keeps them alive.
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