I live with a lot of guilt. A lot of guilt for what I did and for what I didn’t to, for what I could and what I couldn’t do. I’m guilty for not running away from my ex as soon as my baby was born. I’m guilty for not protecting him from that monster. I’m guilty for not realizing what was happening right away. I’m guilty for realizing everything too late.

I decided to jump forward in my narrative and focus on my ex’s far greater crimes than what he did to me. I’ll come back to the aftereffects of my attempted suicide and his subsequent murder attempt with all its details in a later post. I promise.