When did a woman’s shelter fail you?
The Day the Women’s Shelter Failed Me
I waited until my husband passed out drunk on the couch to whisper to my twin girls, “We’re going to get ice cream.” We slipped out the front door and walked straight to the women’s DV shelter three blocks away. We rushed up to the receptionist and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I could feel my hands shaking as I whispered, “He’s in an alcohol coma, but as soon as he realizes I’m gone, we’re screwed.” My voice cracked on the last word. The receptionist looked up from her computer and my stomach dropped. It was Patricia, my husband’s 25-year-old ex-girlfriend.
Patricia’s eyes traveled from my bruised jaw to my daughter’s clinging to my legs. Sophie was clutching her teddy bear, the one with dried blood on it from last week when he’d thrown it at the wall right after hitting her. Elise just stared at the floor.
“Please hide us, I begged. “Just for tonight.” “He’ll kill us when he finds us.”
That’s when I heard it. The familiar rumble of his truck pulling into the parking lot. Through the window, I could see him parking right in front, engine running. The hunting rifle was probably still in the back seat where he always kept it.
The car horn honked. Both girls started crying. Patricia glanced at the parking lot, then back at her desk. “We need intake forms first.” I pleaded that he’s right there.
“I can’t just hide people.” “There’s a process.”
Then came the second honk, longer and angrier. Through the window, I could see him laughing, patting his belt, something he only did before he showed us who owns who. “Please, Patricia.” “He’s going to kill us.”
Sophie tugged on Patricia’s shirt with her tiny hand. “Please let my mommy in.” “You don’t even have to take me.” “Just take mommy so daddy doesn’t hurt her again.”
Patricia pulled away like she’d been burned. She leaned forward and hissed. “You stole my family.” “Find your own shelter.”
I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening. Sophie, my brave little 5-year-old, tried again. “I’ll go back to Daddy.” “I’ll be good.” “Just please hide, Mommy.”
The third honk was so long and angry that Elise wet herself, the warm liquid pooling on Patricia’s clean floor. Through the window, David was holding up his phone, taking pictures of us, grinning evilly. Patricia’s nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Not my problem.” “Maybe David will finally see what kind of mother you really are.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. She was really going to do this. She was going to send us back to him because of something that happened 8 years ago.
Elise suddenly found her voice. The words tumbling out between sobs. “Daddy locks us in the closet when mommy tries to call anyone.” “It’s dark and Sophie can’t breathe good in there.” Her tiny hand gripped mine tighter. “Last time he kept us there all night because mommy tried to call grandma.”
Sophie nodded, adding in her small voice. “He broke my teddy when I cried too loud.” “And he says if we tell anyone at school, he’ll hurt mommy worse.”
She held up the bloodstained bear like evidence. “He made me watch.”
The fourth honk made all three of us jump through the window. I could see him getting out of the truck, stretching like he had all the time in the world. “Please,” I begged Patricia one last time. “They’re babies.” “Even if you hate me, please don’t do this to them.”
Elise dropped to her knees on the wet floor, not caring about her accident. “Please, Miss Patricia.” “I promise I’ll be quiet.” “I won’t eat anything.” “I won’t even use the bathroom.”
Her voice was so small. “Daddy gets really mad after he drinks the smelly bottles.” “He threw the TV at mommy’s head last time.”
Sophie joined her sister on the floor. Both of them kneeling in front of Patricia’s desk. “We can sleep under a table.” “We’re really small.” “No one will even know we’re here.” She was crying so hard she could barely get the words out. “Please don’t make us go back.” “Please, please, please.”
Through the window, I saw him walking toward the door. That dangerous calm on his face that always came before the worst violence. Elise grabbed Patricia’s shoe. “He has a gun in the car.” “He said he’d use it if mommy ever tried to leave again.”
Patricia just pulled her foot away and stood up. She called out, “Security, we have a situation here.” “This woman is refusing to leave.”
My legs went weak. He was at the door now, trying the handle, finding it locked, smiling at me through the glass. I grabbed both girls, who were still on their knees, begging, and pulled them up.
There was nowhere to run. I grabbed both girls hands and yanked them up from the floor, pulling them so close against my legs, I can feel them shaking. Behind Patricia’s desk there’s a hallway with a gray sign that says staff only in white letters.
A man appears from that staff hallway and I see his name tag says Hank in black letters. His eyes are kind though, really kind, and they move fast, taking everything in. He pulls a radio off his belt in one smooth motion.
Hank speaks into the radio in a quiet voice, calm, but serious, giving an address and saying something about a possible DV situation and an armed subject in a vehicle. He says, “Request immediate police response.” and I feel something loosen in my chest just a tiny bit.
Patricia starts to say something, her mouth opening with that annoyed look, but Hank holds up one hand without even glancing at her. She stops talking. He moves his body between us and the glass door, putting himself right in the middle and tells me in that same calm voice to move away from the windows.
