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The Garden of Eden Has a Pear Tree

I wouldn't marry a violent man.

By Aggie HelnePublished 3 years ago 8 min read
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Everyone does jobs here. Today I had cut the lawn such as it was, dried up patches of grass amongst the scorched cracked dirt. I gathered up the windfalls and ran the good ones under the tap before setting them in the fruit bowl inside. I rescued the indoor toys that had migrated outside and returned them to the playroom, and I had swept the path and poured boiling water on the ant’s nest. Now I was sat with Sonya on a rusty garden chair that rocked on the uneven surface with a cup of tea. We were seeking shade from the midday heat under the pear tree and from the assortment of antiquated sheets drying on the line. I start sobbing again Sonya looks up, smiles sympathetically and reaches for my hand; I brush the tears from my face again and squint as I watch my boys playing on the swings. They are busy with new friends.

Though I feel it, I am not stupid; I didn’t marry a violent man. When we were dating my husband drove for over an hour just to bring me cold medicine when I was really sick, along with a teddy that said get well soon. He tidied my room for me despite me saying to keep out because of the germs and even did the ironing that I had left on the chair to be done later. I protested but my parents thought it was really thoughtful of him. He was like that thoughtful.

It wasn’t like he was a drinker, just wine with meals and the odd beer with friends. We never even argued, he accepted I was younger and liked clubbing with my friends, mainly fellow nursing students. When we married he would laugh at my terrible cooking and tell which ever of his friends or family I was trying to cook for that I had other skills.

My husband worked in finance, so he looked after all the money and bills, we got a joint account, and I never had to worry about the mortgage being paid, just concentrate on my studies. He always gave me money for coffee and petrol he was good like that. I hardly earned anything, so he financially supported me while I did my training. Not just financial support he would comfort me when I was upset. I wasn’t used to patients dying yet.

I fell pregnant much sooner than I would have liked even though we used condoms, he was really happy, but we had to tighten our belts a little, and I agreed, so we sold my car. He gave me lifts to and from work and up town on nights out. He never complained at having to leave the house at 6am in time for early shifts. He was a morning person unlike me, he would make me a coffee each morning while I had a shower. I stopped wearing make-up to work though, it was easier for both of us to get ready without it.

I am not stupid; I didn’t marry a violent man. I married a man who taped my shows while I was at work, who always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, who cooked the most amazing chicken in white wine sauce every once in a while as a treat for me so I didn’t to have to cook if I had worked too many shifts in a row.

He really cared about me and worried about me. He didn’t like me going clubbing when I was pregnant, drinking and being in a smoky atmosphere, so I cut down on going out for the sake of the baby.

The first time we really argued was when we had a cardiac arrest at work just as my shift was ending. Sadly, we lost the patient despite trying for some time to save them. I was over an hour late getting off shift. He wasn’t happy, I apologised and explained why I couldn’t come down and tell him I was going to be late, but we drove home in silence. When we got home the shouting started and pushed me back into the hallway wall. He was more upset that I was, mortified he had pushed a pregnant woman, he was just really tired and could have done without me being so late. I was shocked of course, it was so out of character for him.

Like I said I am not stupid. I didn’t marry a violent man. He was really sorry. To make up for it he took me out clothes shopping for after the baby was born. We didn’t buy the clothes I would normally choose but more expensive clothes that would last better and he felt were more suitable, and a couple of dresses to wear when we went out together.

When our son was born he doted on him, our son looked just like him, he couldn’t wait to show him off. It was hard though, lots of sleepless nights, I was exhausted and less enthusiastic about sex. It caused some debates, and he became worried I was cheating on him. I wasn’t, but he was insecure and got upset so sometimes he hit me now, but was always sorry and always bought me new clothes. I learnt to have sex with even when I didn’t want to just to stop arguments.

Before the baby came was the first time I ended up in hospital, I had fractured ribs and bruising to my neck, the police were called and took my statement, the female officer asked what I done to upset him before going to meet him. He was upset at having to babysit our son in the evenings if I was working. He had to feed and bath the baby after working all day. The police sympathised and recommended I get another job if working shifts upset him. The police told him to drive me home and me to apologize to him. I was to consider myself lucky I didn’t marry a violent man, he didn’t drink, worked hard, and helped care for our son. When I was discharged he drove he home.

I ran to my parents once, bruised and bleeding. I told them how he read my mail and stood listening to my phone calls, how he had tried to drown me, and I had to run from the house naked. My parents offered to pay for a holiday abroad to help repair our marriage. Like they said were married now and no one in our family had ever got divorced and besides lots of husbands hit their wives. I needed to try harder to be a better wife. I looked into leaving him, but I couldn’t afford to with the cost of childcare. Anyway, he didn’t let me use contraception so within a few months I was pregnant again.

By the time our second son was born things were more difficult he was in trouble at work for taking time off to spy on me. He timed me going shopping and would hurt me if I took to long accusing me of having an affair with the checkout boy. He would cry while he hit me asking why I made him do this. He wasn’t sorry anymore and wanted me to understand what I was doing wrong. I only went to the hospital if my injuries didn’t stop bleeding or I had broken something important, but he stayed with me and explained I had had another accident.

I was scared of him now he didn’t like me meeting with the other mums or answering the phone. He no longer gave me any money apart from shopping money when I needed to give him the receipt and all the change. He would force me to have sex in front of the children with his hands round my throat will he screamed at me.

I was only allowed to eat now if I had behaved myself that day, I wasn’t allowed to listen to music or read books. I could only sleep when he said so. The neighbours would nod sympathetically the next time they saw me, but no-one called the police it wasn’t done.

My husband wasn’t that bad he doted on his two boys. Until he beat me unconscious and took them. The police had to force their way into the garage and rescue them from the back seat. He had attached a hose pipe to the exhaust. At the hospital as I sat next to my two small babies in a hyperbaric chamber it was a nurse that told me about the refuge.

I didn’t marry a violent man. I married a man who loved me too much. He would rather I was dead, that his boys were dead than leave him for another man, and he knew I would leave. All the women before me he had loved had left.

I did leave, I was taken by a refuge worker with my boys down the fire exit of the hospital to a waiting car while he was being examined by the mental health team.

So now I sat with Sonya in the garden, ugly sobbing. I had been here several days now, my bruises were changing colour, but it had taken this long for me to realise I was safe. I had never sobbed out of relief before. I kept saying sorry, but Sonya just held my hand and smiled as she ate a pear.

divorce
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Aggie Helne

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