PART 1
“Leave her right there. Her broken leg will be her punishment for not knowing how to obey,” Derek said while his mother was still holding the wooden rolling pin.
The third hit sounded totally different from the first two. It was not just a sharp smack on my skin, but a deep, horrible crack that shot all the way from my shin up to my back.
I fell onto the kitchen tiles and saw my left leg bent at a crazy angle. “Margaret broke it,” I managed to say.
My mother in law was breathing hard with a red face, but she did not look sorry at all. “I told you not to talk back to your elders in this house,” she barked. “Ever since you married my son, you think you are better than us just because you got a college degree.”
The whole thing started because I said the stew was too salty for Walter, my father in law, who had high blood pressure. That was it. Margaret took it as a personal insult in front of her husband, called me names, and then grabbed the rolling pin.
Derek came into the kitchen when I was already on the floor. Three years ago, when we met at a wedding in Cincinnati, I promised myself I would never let anyone hurt me.
He bent down, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look at him. “Abigail, you are always pushing my mom. Would it have killed you to just shut up?”
“I need a hospital,” I cried. “I cannot feel my foot.”
Derek looked at my swelling leg under my pajama pants. Then he stood up and wiped his hands like touching me was gross. “We will see tomorrow. Today you need to learn your lesson.”
It was a bit after eight at night, and it was raining outside our neighborhood in Indianapolis. My purse, phone, ID, and cards were locked in the living room because they kept them to stop me from doing anything stupid.
They had been checking my phone, taking my paycheck, and keeping me from my parents for months. I wanted to leave after I lost my baby, but Margaret called me useless, and Derek said it was better that way because a kid would mess up our money.
When I asked for a divorce, they took my papers and said no one would ever believe me. From the floor, I heard Derek ordering food on his phone.
“Mom, take it easy,” Derek said. “I ordered enchiladas and your favorite cake. Dad, turn on the game.”
The three of them went to the living room and turned on the TV. They ate, laughed, and talked about the game while I lay on the cold floor, shaking with a swollen leg and a dry throat.
At one point, Walter asked if they should take me to the ER. “She is fine,” Derek said. “Tomorrow we will say she fell. Then she can quit her job so we can finally keep an eye on her.”
That was when I knew this was not just a fight. They did not want to teach me a lesson; they wanted to break me until I gave up completely.
I waited until the house went quiet around midnight. Crawling on my elbows, I dragged myself to the back door, biting my sleeve so I would not scream from the pain.
In a bottom drawer, I found an old metal bottle opener. The small vent at the bottom of the door had four rusty screws.
I held the bottle opener with my bloody fingers and started turning the first screw. They had no idea that before morning came, they were going to find out I had just escaped.
PART 2
It took me almost an hour to get the grate off. When I finally squeezed through, I dropped into the yard and felt the bone shift in my leg.
I bit my sleeve hard to stay quiet. I had no shoes, no money, and no phone, just my thin pajamas and the fear that Derek would catch me if I stayed.
Mrs. Jenkins lived right next door, but crawling over to her house felt like walking miles. I dragged myself through the dirt and gravel, leaving a trail of blood and mud, and managed to knock twice before I blacked out.
I woke up at Lakeside Community Hospital. Dr. Samuel Lawson told me my tibia and fibula were broken in several places, and I might have a hard time walking again.
“We have to call the police,” he said.
“Yes, but please do not tell anyone I am here first,” I begged.
Nurse Rachel closed the door. Mrs. Jenkins came in and said she had heard screams from our house for months, so she gave me a cheap phone with a new SIM card.
I called the only number I knew by heart, and my mom picked up on the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
“Mom, it is Abigail,” I said, breaking down.
Hearing her cry hurt worse than my leg. My parents had not heard from me in six months because Derek sent messages from my account saying I did not want to talk to them.
They came straight from Cincinnati, but I asked them to talk to Gwendolyn Ross first, a lawyer who handles abuse cases. Gwendolyn came that night, took pictures of my bruises, got a medical report, and filed for a protective order.
She also pulled my bank records, showing my paycheck had been going straight to Margaret’s account for three years. “We can press charges now,” she said, “but they will say it was an accident. We need to get them on record.”
So when Derek called the hospital, they told him I was still out cold. When he and his parents showed up three days later with a fruit basket, Nurse Rachel moved me to a room at the end of the hall.
I watched them through a crack in the door. Margaret was dressed up and smiling, not worried at all, just coming to see how bad off I was.
When they saw room three hundred and four was empty, they started making a scene. “He is her husband! We have every right to see her!” Margaret yelled.
