My husband ya:nke:d me off the toilet by my hair with my pants still half down, twisted me onto the floor, and pinned me there while his mother picked up my crying newborn because they wanted to “teach me who runs this family.” My cheek had already sw0llen, my lip was bl:ee:ding, and dark b:ruis:es were beginning to spread across my shoulder and thigh. His mother tossed the baby onto the mattress. I fought my way free, grabbed my son, and locked us inside the bathroom. Then the baby monitor crackled with their voices from earlier, calmly talking about how long they thought it would take before I “broke.”
My husband, Brandon, dragged me off the toilet by my hair with my pants still half down, twisted me onto the floor, and held me there while his mother, Patricia, picked up my crying newborn because they wanted to teach me who runs this family. My cheek was swollen, my lip was bleeding, and dark…
