Day 78: When promises are broken
He promised that he would stop drinking and he even went through a month-long rehab program.
I thought my days of being a literal and figurative punching bag were finally over. I was wrong. The final straw was six years ago when I came home from grocery shopping one Sunday morning. He was supposed to be watching our two-year- old twins, but what I came upon was horrifying. My daughter Emma was bawling her eyes out while sitting in a cold bath with a soiled diaper. Her twin sister Lucy was in her crib screaming because she could hear Emma. I had no idea at the time how long they had been like that but I flew into action. I dropped the groceries on the floor and grabbed the twins. Once they were clean and dry, I shoved a bunch of their clothes and mine into a garbage bag and got us all in the car. He came outside holding a thermos, which I knew was full of vodka, and he started screaming at me to get back in the house. We lived in a subdivision in Thornhill, and a few worried neighbors came out to see what was happening because he was so loud. I could barely think and I probably shouldn’t have driven in that state, but I had an almost maniacal determination to escape. It was one thing to have endured this all on my own, but when it came to the kids, I had to leave to protect them. Once I was safely at my brother’s house, I called JF&CS. I never looked back.
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*The names and details of those in this story have been altered to ensure anonymity.
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