Waiting to Strike

I try to tell myself that good things will come when they are meant to. Because that’s fate right? It’s always fate, it’s always a waiting game. I’ve played that game for years… waiting to finish school. Waiting to meet that special someone. Waiting to start my career. Waiting. Waiting to free myself of the chains of an abusive relationship. Waiting to fix every wrong. Waiting to find every right.

You see, I’m what they called a “teen mom.” Yes, I was “that girl.” I got pregnant my junior year of high school at the ripe age of 16. And by 17, I was wrapped around my son’s chubby little finger. Pure bliss entranced by my newborn. This is where that waiting really began. I waited for his father or shall I really say sperm donor, to finally step it up. He kept promising and promising us a home, a wedding, a happily ever after. Of course- that was a lie. I just kept trudging on, picking up what he was lacking. But I took notes every day, in my little black book, of every action against me. Every little fight, every little instance he decided to lie and manipulate me. Every time he used my son as a pawn. Every instance he used sex against me.

Fast-forward five years and one custody battle later, I finally left the sperm donor. I finally gained freedom, not without loss though. And every loss was recorded. I had primary custody, but he never paid child support- huge loss. I could dictate where my son lived- but he never wanted to agree on pick up and drop off locations- minor loss. Each little loss marked in my little black book. It somehow felt like my own “Burn Book” but just against one person in particular. I told myself if I ever got the chance to tear him down like he did to me…I would.

The question became how. How could I finally bring him down off the pedestal he built himself? His throne of lies and narcissism. The courts hadn’t even lifted a finger. Least not until I mentioned his will overdue child support, but even then, it felt like nothing. Nothing changed, nothing happened. My little black book became filled with notes. Sometimes even things I wish I could tell him. I never did of course, I stayed quiet. Just like how when I had to testify against him for sexually assaulting me… I was quiet.

This quietness, this silence… was deafening. I could never win against him, not advocating for my son’s health or his education. Every battle was silent. Even when in my head I was bursting with rage and words to match. One can only take so much silence before they break…or something breaks them.

It was one random day though that finally broke that silence. By that day, I had adjusted to a silent life. I had a good job, a loving partner…even the sperm donor was quite reasonable. So, when I received plain envelope in the mail, I thought nothing of it. I opened the envelope and staring back at me was a check… for $20,000. My mind leapt to unpaid child support, but the note attached it simply said “Speak.” A million thoughts raced through my mind. Who got my address? Who knew of my struggle? Who decided to give some random chick who screwed-up in high school this money? Then it truly dawned on me the power I had. The power I so desperately was craving to have. The power to finally strike him down. My wait was over.