Up and up the hill I went until finally I reached the top.  As soon as I reached my gate, my heart swelled and pounded as though I was on an aeroplane ready for take off.  "Oh, God,” I thought, “its bloody home again,” I feared.  “Flipping hell, this bleeding’ house and everything gets on my nerves.”  I continued swearing in my mind.  My heart was bleeding, crying, pleading, and weeping within. The thought of going into the house made me feel like spewing up.  If only I could pick my feet up in my hands, turn back and run like mad down the hill, away from it all.  But how could I run away?  Where would I go with three children?”  Who would take care of the children?  I wondered.  I loved our children with all my heart.  They had meant everything to me; to me they were more precious than any gold could be.  All kinds of funny thoughts came to mind, thoughts I knew I couldn't act upon.  As I reached our gate, I looked over into the garden and down the side of the house.  Then I entered through the gate and continued up to the front door.  I listened for voices of the children playing in the back yard, but there was no sound of them.  Quietly I pushed the key into the front door, expecting now to hear the sound of excited little feet, running down the stairs.  There was complete silence.  I stood at the foot of the stairs looking up, hoping they would come running down the stairs.  My heart filled to the point of bursting. 

One by one, I called out each of their names.  But there was still empty silence everywhere.  Finally, I went to the sitting room, into the kitchen, out into the garden, through the alleyway and looked into the garden shed to see if they were playing hide and seek on me.  I called out their names aloud again.  My heart sunk like a heavy chunk of lead.  “Bleedin’ bastard, he makes me sick, I hate his guts,” I said in my heart.  How I've wished in the name of God that he would go away and leave me alone.  The evening dusk became darker and darker, with a cold chill in the air.  “Sod it,” I thought to myself.  “The bloody bastard had not gone to fetch the children home from the child minder, nor had he been at home all day.”  How my sad, unhappy heart despised, cursed, and swore vengeance on him.  As my heart swore, I became mentally and physically more tired, weary and fed up to the point of despair.  Somehow, it seemed my burden was unending.  During those moments of thoughts, I wished I could just go to sleep and not have to see my bloody husband again. However, I went back inside, into the hall again.  There I left a handbag and a cardigan as evidence so that if he came home before I got back from fetching the children, he’d see that I have been home from work.  

The journey to the child minder was about seven minutes walking distance from our house.  By the time I reached the child minder's house, the children were all excited and ready to go home.  Somehow, that gloomy evening, my spirit could not tarry.  It was as though something was haunting my spirit, so I did not stop, or couldn't stop to have our regular little chat, the child minder and me.  I wasn't in that frame of mind.  Within minutes, the children and I were out the house and on our way back to our house.  I couldn’t delay getting home, even though I felt there was danger waiting there.  When the children and I got back home, my husband still hadn't been there yet.  It became quite cold and dismal, with black fog darkening the place.  Not feeling good within myself, I decided to get the children into bed as early as possible.  But first, I quickly prepared some supper for them.  After they had eaten, I tidied them and got them ready for bed.  Myself, I had nothing to eat or drink and, being so weary and tired, I got ready for bed, also, deciding to use Wisdom the baby’s room.  I clearly recall going off to sleep at 10pm to be precise, with baby Wisdom in my arms. 

I must’ve slept for at least an hour and a half when, all of a sudden, it felt as though a devil had entered the bedroom.  A heavy blow struck my body and I jumped from my sleep with a great fright. There, standing over us, was the devil, my husband with blood shot eyes demanding that I must go back into our bedroom.  He was beating me up the week before that night, which caused me to be sleeping in the baby’s bedroom.  However, I began pleading and begging as though I was asking of him for my life to be spared.  “Please, please leave me alone,” I pleaded with all the pleading I could muster.  “I am weak and tired with a headache, please leave me alone, I don't want a fight, I can't fight with you anymore.  Please leave me alone.”  But there was nothing I could say or do to stop him hitting and pulling at me. I hugged tightly unto the baby as he hit and pulled.  Finally, I let go of the baby, screaming and crying.  Anywhere and everywhere the blows landed, he was not concerned. 

No amount of reasoning or begging meant anything to him.  He was insistent: "Get out of the bed and into our bed room," he demanded, as he dragged the blanket off us.  "No, no, I don't want to sleep with you," I was crying.  He kept on hitting furiously as though he was out of control.  I got hold of the baby again, hoping he would stop hitting me as I used one hand to shield the blows from my face.  “Get off the bed,” he said, with staring eyes, whilst pulling at my leg.  Finally, he got me off the bed.  As I moved forward towards the bedroom door, he hit me so hard on my head I fell backward in the bedroom.  I remember my head rocking from side to side. As I went down I said, in a low voice, "Oh, God, you knock me out."