The Day I Left

The Day I Left

It was the intensity of our relationship—the years before we even became serious—that kept me holding on. I stayed because I hoped it would change. Because it was something I had never experienced and maybe would never experience again. But that wasn’t love. It was manipulation.

I wasn’t naive. I was hopeful. I’m the kind of woman who wants to feel intensity in a relationship. At the time, I thought it had to be transactional.

It almost cost me my life.

At first, the abuse came when we drank. But when I was pregnant with our child, I realized it wasn’t the alcohol—it was him. I thought we were both becoming better people, or so I believed.

One day, I knew I had to leave. I couldn’t stay any longer, not even for a second. With the help of a friend who held my heart dearly, (though we aren’t friends anymore) I found the strength to go. I can’t thank her enough for that.

She felt my baby’s first kick. She came with me to the ultrasound to find out the gender. Meanwhile, my family was “too busy”—some drunk.

When I left him, it was the day after he almost took my life. In that moment, I accepted death. I didn’t flinch or fight back—I just let it be. Maybe it was surrender, maybe it was exhaustion. But in that stillness, something inside me shifted. The fight to survive became a fight to live.

I told my friend to come get me with her car. I had planned everything that morning while I was watching him getting ready for work. I acted normal in my texts to him but I was packing my entire life away. Even the love I had left.

When my friend arrived with her little cousin she babysat, I said, “Can you help me? I need to bring these to my sister’s. He doesn’t know. Everything is packed.” We moved fast. We left. The innocent little girl didn’t know what was happening.

I forgot one thing—the ulu I had borrowed. Halfway to my sister’s place, I remembered. My friend was scared and a little mad, hesitant even. But I told her, “We have to, it’s yours. I'll run in.”

I ran back to his apartment to get it. We were even more afraid that time.

But we did it.

⸻

Reflection and Apology

I saw his abuse as a reflection of him—his physical violence and the cruel words meant to break me into crumbs.

For a long time, I believed those words. Until I chose to heal and begin to seek professional help.

I chose love. I always did.

To that friend who stood by me, who helped me choose life even when I pushed her away with my anger and hurt—I want to say this:

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the words I said. The names I called you. The anger I let out—the same hurtful words that had been hurled at me. I was broken and lost, trying to unload years of pain and fear after leaving.

There is no excuse.

But that doesn’t erase the love I still hold for you, or the gratitude that runs deeper than any hurt.

You helped me choose life. You helped me choose love.

Even when I pushed you away.

I will never forget you.

-A