The following story is a work of fiction. Any coincidence to people living or deadin terms of names, events or characters is unintentional.-----------------------------------------------------WARNING: The following story contains violence & swearing that may cause offense!It also contains spelling mistakes, grammatical challenges & other errors that maycause offenseJennifer lay on the bedroom floor, gasping for air. From the corner of her eyesshe could see her toddlers crouched against the side of the queen size bed infear. Their father’s hands were around her neck squeezing ever harder.She knew she had to find the strength to fight him off or his gruesome words wouldbecome her last reality: ‘Die you Bitch. I hate you. You stupid fucking bitch. Ihave had enough. Now you are going to pay. Are you happy now. Its enough, you aregoing to die.’His face so enraged that she could hardly recognise the man she had loved andmarried and slept beside for ten years. Seconds felt like hours. Part of herwanted to relent and just die. The other part of her was a mother and a survivor.A mother who knew above all else that she couldn’t leave her children behind.‘Why’, she wondered.Why had she tried? Why had she asked? Why had she been stupid enough to stay? Whyhad she been stupid enough to think he loved her? Why had she been stupid enoughto call, to care about him, to worry where he was so late?Her desperate pleas for mercy were ignored. She squirmed and used every bit ofadrenaline in her to try and shift his weight off so she could escape and breathe.He never hit or beat her once in ten years.Hitting you see, in his sociopathic justifications, is classed as throwing apunch. And since he had never ‘thrown a fist or a slap’ at her, he argued over andover throughout the years that he was not a wife ‘beater’. He had also previouslyargued in his defence that it was her provocation that initiated the attacks. Shewas the problem. Not him.Throwing her against walls, pinning her down by her arms, pushing her across theroom and strangling her were excluded from his definition of domestic abuse. Shehad provoked him into anger and she had created the rage inside of him, shedeserved it.Sadly she had always believed everything he said. She hated herself. She woreguilt and blame like an invisible burka, slumping her posture and neglecting herbody and looks because she felt so unloved and unwanted for so many years.As she tried to escape his grip using her arms and legs, she momentarily wonderedif it wouldn’t be better to die right then. It would all be over. 30 years ofabuse and isolation had left her longing to just be numb. To never feel this painand this rejection and this anger ever again. Her inner pain was greater thananything he could lash at her externally.The panic, fear and pain overwhelmed her. she could feel her face getting hotterand hotter. She could feel her lungs burning for air. And she heard her childcrying in the background. Sobbing. ‘mommy, mommy, daddy don’t hurt mommy’.