At the break of dawn, she was on her feet. She rubbed her belly, sighed softly and got back to preparing her children’s school lunch packs. Her husband was oblivious to the chores she was up to in the early mornings and late evenings. Except to the appearance of her stretch marks, testimony to the two beautiful children she had borne him. He had called her ‘undesirable’. The word still haunted her.
A couple of hours later, she was scurrying around in the office, diligently fulfilling her role as a secretary. An essential but invisible figure. Functional but replaceable. She had asked for two weeks off but had been met with a blunt refusal. From time to time, she would worry about the lump in her right breast. She knew she had to go to the doctor’s. A solo mission without her husband. He had told her in no uncertain terms that he was the main breadwinner and he could not be bothered by extra hassles. Maybe her sister would accompany her.
Meanwhile, she had made a mental list of the things her pre-schooler daughter needed for her class project. She would pop into the bookshop. She also had to plan what to make for dinner; a daily dilemma as her family could be unappreciative about what she had painstakingly prepared. She would have to oversee her son’s revision work as he had examinations in the coming days.
She was back home. Her feet were sore. But there was no time to sit down. Mechanically, she busied herself with kitchen duties after having aired the laundry. Ironing would be carried out later that evening. She wondered when was the last time she had been out to have a good time. Before her marriage, perhaps? Soon, the kitchen was spotless again. The dishes had been washed. Her husband had not come home yet. Nor had he called. She knew better than to call him. Last time she had done so, a resounding slap had fractured her cheekbone.
It was eleven o’clock at night. She smelled the liquor on her husband’s breath as he bent over her, trying to pull her nightdress off. She struggled against him but he put his hand over her mouth, stifling her cries. An unspeakable terror played out into that bedroom. In the morning, her face was swollen. Her body was bruised. Everything was hanging on by a thread. He was still snoring. But her dignity was intact. The door was open. It was high time to live, not just survive.
From https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/violence-against-women:
-According to WHO figures, about 1 in 3 (30%) of women worldwide have been victims of physical and/or sexual intimate partner violence or non-partner violence in their lifetime.
-The violence is mostly intimate partner violence. Almost a third of women aged 15-49 years who have been in a relationship have reported that they have been subjected to some form of physical and/or sexual violence by their intimate partner.