Chapter Nineteen: New Endings

After my daughter was born, things seemed to deteriorate. I always wanted to take the kids out of the house, Gypsy did not. He even went so far as to buy and build a $1300 playground in the back yard so I would not need to take the kids to the park. He became severely controlling again – made worse by the fact that I would continually deny his advances. Eventually, our arguments were so frequent and so terrible that he began taking the stroller, car seats, my bank card, cell phone, keys…anything I could use to leave the house, he would keep on him, and take to work with him. Our fights got to the point that he would leave “shove” marks on me – thumb prints, grip marks, cuts from the fingernails he would call his “talons”…and when he pointed his finger in my face, I lost it. I reached up, grabbed his finger, and snapped it back. He shoved me hard onto the bed, and I felt my head bounce hard off of it, then land a second time. As he came at me, I pulled my legs back and kicked him as hard as I could – throwing him into the dresser, and breaking two of his ribs along with his finger. He lunged at me again and I punched his nose so hard he ended up with 2 black eyes, then I stomped on his foot hard enough to break a toe – and ran out of the room. His parents intervened then, and when he called me a bitch in front of the children, his mother scolded him in Spanish, and he left the house.

And when Valentine’s Day 2010 came around, he started to act “normally”. Our children were then 7mos and 21mos old. He bought me a ring with 3 diamonds, and when turned sideways, the ring itself read “I love you” along the connectors between the diamonds and the band. He then presented me with a pair of red house slippers, and pretended to propose to me until the last second, when he revealed as a joke and I sighed with relief.

But somehow, despite the positive final holiday we had, 2 days later, we got into another fight, and he got an inch from my face,

“If you and I were married, I’d have already killed you by now!”

I removed my glasses, got back in his face, and challenged him, “I’m right here! Just do it already! Do it! Come on!” I wouldn’t let him get a word in.

“I swear to fucking God, I’m gonna slap you,” He spat at me, but I kept pushing him until eventually, he shoved me back again. I pushed him off, said “I FUCKING hate you” and walked into the livingroom.

The next day, February 18, 2010, I did what I should have done a long time before.

I got the courage to leave – for good.

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