I went to see my baby at Husband #2 parent’s home. My son was there following Husband #2; incarceration was for another domestic abuse I endured at his hands.
Husband #2 had temporary custody when he went to jail, so I filed for custody and drove to pick up my son.
His Dad came raging out of the house towards me and wrenched my right arm upwards and behind my back, turning my body while slamming my face against my car. His Dad kept pulling my arm up to my back so high I was barely on my tiptoes. The entire time was yelling at me, “I will not see my son!” “Don’t come back here!”
I thought he was going to break my arm. He said I’m never going to see my son again, and don’t come back. I left and called the police. They did not respond. The latter years I remained with him, police responded less or not. I didn’t know why or what to make of this lack of help from the police. Maybe they all knew some police, and this was a corrupt situation. I have never figured it out.
I got into my car after literally begging and crying for his Dad to let me go! I drove to the nearest store to call 911 from a payphone. The 911 operator did not sound concerned about what I was telling her that happened—the overwhelming heartache for my son sobered me on every level of existence.

ALL IN HIS FAMILY

I went to see my baby at Husband #2 parent’s home. My son was there following Husband #2; incarceration was for another domestic abuse I endured at his hands.
Husband #2 had temporary custody when he went to jail, so I filed for custody and drove to pick up my son.
His Dad came raging out of the house towards me and wrenched my right arm upwards and behind my back, turning my body while slamming my face against my car. His Dad kept pulling my arm up to my back so high I was barely on my tiptoes. The entire time was yelling at me, “I will not see my son!” “Don’t come back here!”
I thought he was going to break my arm. He said I’m never going to see my son again, and don’t come back. I left and called the police. They did not respond. The latter years I remained with him, police responded less or not. I didn’t know why or what to make of this lack of help from the police. Maybe they all knew some police, and this was a corrupt situation. I have never figured it out.
I got into my car after literally begging and crying for his Dad to let me go! I drove to the nearest store to call 911 from a payphone. The 911 operator did not sound concerned about what I was telling her that happened—the overwhelming heartache for my son sobered me on every level of existence.

%d bloggers like this: