And Then Hope Happened

By Carmen Taylor-Acevedo

The lives of two women changed by domestic violence, drawn together by God.

At just eighteen years old, Faith Wells found herself trapped in a cycle of abuse. Then, just when she thought she was done, Darius made a promise to change for good, pulling her ba

• Language: English
• Publisher: High Heels & Purpose
• Release date: Jan 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888627433

Book preview

One

Please help me. I can’t take it anymore! I screamed at the nurse.

Everything is going to be alright, she said in a calm voice. You are almost ready to deliver your beautiful baby girl.

Augh, I want to push so badly. I have to push now, please!

Hang in there. Let me go get the doctor. She stepped out for what seemed like an eternity.

Hello Faith, my name is Dr. Long. I hear you are ready to push, he said, with little facial expression. I guess to him, it was just an ordinary day.

Yes, please hurry up because it feels like my stomach is going to explode! I know it sounded harsh, but that was the way I was feeling.

Oh my God, the pain is so excruciating. The contractions were no joke. Why hadn’t anyone told me about the real pain when I asked so many times? Did they think I couldn’t handle the truth because I was only eighteen? It wasn’t that hard to say it hurts like hell.

Okay, let’s check, he said as he sat on the rolling stool between my legs to see if it was time. Well, look here, the baby’s head has started to crown. I’d say you’ll have your baby with a few pushes. As soon as you feel a contraction, I want you to push.

As soon as he said that a contraction began, and I pushed like my life depended on it. My face felt flushed, so I knew I must have been the shade of a tomato. I kept pushing, but she wouldn’t come out. I heard the doctor tell the nurse the fetal heartbeat was decreasing and to hurry and get the pediatric doctor on call.

What’s going on? I frantically said as I searched their faces for an explanation.

There seems to be a slight problem getting her out, and her heart rate is decreasing, Dr. Long stated. Now, I saw a different look on his face, and it caused me to become frightened.

Oh no! I started crying frantically.

Please help my baby! I faintly heard the nurse paging the pediatric doctor on call to report to room 202.

Calm down. Everything will be fine. Easy for him to say, but it was hard for an eighteen-year-old who didn’t know what she was doing.

The next thing I knew, the pediatric doctor came rushing into the room. Everything was happening so fast. She held up what looked like extra-large suction cups and then proceeded to do something in my vaginal area that created even more pressure than I was already experiencing. She then tells me to push. I pushed until exhaustion got the best of me. I could not push anymore, but I knew I had to keep going. Finally, she was out, but I didn’t hear a cry. I thought that always happened; the mom pushed until a crying baby appeared. At least, that was how it happened on television and in movies. I was young, but I knew for sure that was what was supposed to happen. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I sat up quickly but just as quickly fell back down from dizziness.

Where’s my baby? I screamed. Let me see her!

Just as the nurse was handing her over to me, I heard an annoying, yet familiar, sound.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

I jumped up, startled out of my sleep by the annoying alarm clock. I sat up with beads of sweat dissipating on my forehead. I hadn’t had one of those dreams for a while. Was God trying to tell me something? Why are they starting to come back now?

As I usually do before starting my day, I got down on my knees and prayed. Dear Lord, thank you for another beautiful day and new mercies. Allow your love to flow in my life. Remove self so that I can be filled with Your will. Help me guide these women into believing that all things are possible, and if they take one step, you will take two. Give me patience and a nonjudgmental attitude as I have been where they are now. Thank you for all things. Bless my daughter wherever she may be and keep her safe. In Jesus' name, Amen.

Yet another week has passed, but another week ahead to anticipate. For a Monday morning, I couldn’t have felt any better. It was time to get my daily grind on. Working with abused women was tough and could cause even the calmest person to have a nervous breakdown or suffer from depression. I had to learn to check my emotions early on in my career. I never imagined my career would take this turn when I gave my valedictorian speech at graduation from Spellman College. I knew my degree would open many doors. After my law school acceptance and eventually passing the bar exam, I had the potential to rake in some big bucks as a corporate lawyer. I tried to stick with it, but it always felt as if something was missing. Going to work became more of a chore, and I knew it was time for a change.

I always felt my purpose was in helping others, but not as a lawyer. I realized my purpose was to serve abuse victims. As a teenager, I had experienced abuse by my first love and then again as an adult. I wanted to use my experience, and what I overcame as a testimony for others. I decided to redirect my path and start a non-profit called First Step Women’s Center. It was an uphill battle to get things in motion, but eventually, I secured office space and a building for transitional housing within a few blocks of each other. Being in abusive relationships allowed me to be sympathetic to these women's struggles and the journey of restorative independence they were about to confront. I wouldn’t change my choice for anything in this world.

Checking the weather for today made me even more thankful I could purchase a brownstone near First Step Women’s Outreach Center. On those hot days, like it was going to be today, I was able to avoid mass transit and walk to work. Granted, I would have to leave extra early, but if I had to take mass transit and wait in those hot-ass subway stations only to stand near some big, sweaty, funky-smelling man, I would lose my mind.

The first thing to tackle this morning was deciding what to wear. I remembered the good old days when I would iron my work clothes for the entire week, but I had been too exhausted to do that anymore since starting First Step. I went from stuffy corporate attire to as long as you’re not naked, it works attire. However, I still found myself dressing semi-professional because I liked to look and feel confident. I hadn’t had the chance to go shopping to purchase dress-down clothes. Yes, this was one woman who did not look forward to shopping. Everything looked the same to me, so why spend money on clothes that would sit in my closet? The two trash bags full of clothes I needed to bring to work for the clothes pantry just reinforced my position on spending.

Walking toward my closet, I stopped and looked in the mirror. Not bad for someone who belonged to the forties club. I stood at 5’6" tall, with fair skin, curves in all the right places, light brown eyes, and now thanks to my hairstylist, ash brown hair and a short do which I was feeling. She hooked me up. I felt good about the way I looked. To think, I didn’t always feel this way. I’ve made great strides. I appreciate my body with clothes on or off. My only complaints are the few rocky road spots on my hips that just won’t smooth out, which reminded me that I needed to pick up some new cream that was supposed to remove cellulite in fourteen days. I had nothing to lose but fifteen bucks. If this didn’t work, I would just count them as battle wounds. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself.

As I looked down at my stomach and gently rubbed my hand in a circular motion, it reminded me of a time when there was a life growing inside of me. I started thinking about when I had this huge belly and how I would speak to my growing baby every day. I felt the tears start rolling down my face, and at that point, I knew I couldn’t stop them. It was downhill from there as I found myself on the floor, bawling, asking myself the same questions that have haunted me since giving her up for adoption. Where is she? Is she happy? Does she look like me? Does she know she was adopted? A million questions to which I will probably never have the answers. I slowly raised myself from the floor, walked over to the small table next to my bed, and pulled out my Bible. That was where I kept a picture of my little girl. I was so thankful the nurse on duty gave me a picture of my angel to keep.

I remembered nurse Connie telling me, Sweetie, I am not supposed to do this, but I took a picture of your daughter for you to keep. She placed it in my hand and gently lifted my baby girl from my arms. That was the last time I saw and held my daughter, but it was not the last time I thought about her. It was only God’s grace that gave me the strength to carry on after having to do probably the most challenging thing in my life; give up my baby.

I was too young at that time and in a very abusive relationship. I kept the abuse a secret from my family for a while until finally, I got up enough nerve to tell my mother. Although my mother told me she would support me if I kept the baby, I knew adoption was the best decision at the time. I wasn’t prepared to care for a child, knowing I needed help for the mental and physical abuse I had suffered over the years and at such a young age. A part of me was terrified, sure that if I kept my baby, her father would always be in my life. I had no doubts that would have proven to be devastating for us both. I had already suffered at his hands. Why would I want to put my child through that?

I retrieved her picture and stared at it with a proud mom smile. I may not have had much time with her after she was born, but she grew inside of me for nine months. For those nine months, I was her only mother. When I found out I was pregnant, I was in shock, but a part of me was also excited because I would be responsible for bringing a life into this world. I would have someone I would love unconditionally, but it was all short-lived because I knew the reality of my life at that time.

After about four months of going back and forth between wanting to keep the baby or give her up, feeling either choice was a selfish one, I firmly decided on adoption. I started looking into adoption agencies with my mother’s help. I was so thankful my mother was there to support me. My dad was never one who said too much, but in his own way, he showed me that he was there for me as well. When I found out I was having a girl, I instantly knew I would name her Zoe. I picked that name because it meant life. I was giving her life, but she was giving me life as well. Getting pregnant and going through all I had, made me realize my value. I knew her adoptive parents would probably give her a different name, but she would always be my Zoe. When I finally chose the adoption agency and signed all the paperwork, I was emotionally drained. So many nights I spent crying and questioning my decision. So many times, I wanted to call it all off. My immense love for her and desire for her happiness gave me the courage to do what I felt was best.

It was hard to believe she turned twenty-three on March seventeenth. Too often people say that time flies by, which I used to think was mainly to fill the awkwardness of not seeing someone for a while, but the saying was true. I used to wonder if we would find each other one day. Twenty-three years later, it still hadn’t happened, and I became less hopeful it would. I looked at the clock and realized I needed to start getting ready. I had an early appointment with a young lady I had spoken to the previous week. She sounded desperate and unsure, just as many abused women have felt. I gently kissed the picture, tucked it back inside my Bible, and headed to my closet.

I pulled out a pair of white slacks and a purple and white striped blouse. I turned on my curling iron, so it would be nice and hot by the time I got out of the shower. I loved my new hairdo, but I sure did miss the ease of being able to slick my hair back into a ponytail. I didn’t have to curl it much, but there was more upkeep to this style than I was used to doing. When I finished with everything, I still had ten minutes to spare before starting my daily trek to the center. I searched the closet for my white flats and then headed to the kitchen to take my multivitamin, which was essential. I had to make sure I had enough energy to get through these days. I grabbed my purse, cell phone, and a bottle of water before I headed out the door. Time to make a difference.

Two

Hey sexy, can I talk to you for a minute? this deep, penetrating voice spoke. Every day I had to go through the disrespect from these construction workers. Unfortunately, this was the only path I could take to get to the center. Besides, why should I be the one to change my routine because they couldn’t control themselves? I was anxious for this construction job to be completed because I was very close to giving them a piece of my mind. However, I was sure that would only give them more ammunition to bother me with their adolescent behavior. I decided to keep it pleasant and try to get past them as fast as possible.

Sorry, I’m in a rush, but you have a good day, I said, without even looking in the direction of the voice. From what I’ve observed, none of these men fit my criteria. He doesn’t have to be a Boris Kodjoe or Bryan White, although that would be nice. Somewhere along those lines would satisfy my physical preference.

It will only take one minute, I promise. This dude thought he could hook up with me in only a minute. I wasn’t sure what kind of women he dated, but I could only assume the worse with that kind of pick-up line. I had to admit, his voice and confidence piqued my curiosity, so I glanced in his direction. Oh, my Lord! I had to do a double-take because I could not believe what I saw. There was nothing like some delicious eye candy to start off my day. He was tall, athletic, caramel-coated, and plain handsome. I couldn’t tell if he was bald, had an afro, or had a receding hairline because of the hard hat he wore. His skin glistened with sweat, and I was mesmerized by his bulging bicep muscles as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Damn, maybe he could hook up with me in a minute. I took a deep breath and realized I was staring at him.

So, is that a yes, or no? he said, with his strong, piercing voice.

My lips wanted to say yes, but they would not form the word for some reason.

Sorry, I don’t have a minute. Maybe another time, I said as I quickly walked away, making sure I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I was not ready to even consider hooking up with anyone the way my dating experiences had panned out.

I thought about the time I dated Keith White, who reminded me of a breastfeeding baby. He wanted me to constantly reassure him that there was no one else but him. I got tired of that, and after about two months, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke it to him as gently as I could, and he cried like a baby. I almost started to offer him a pacifier to soothe his separation anxieties. I felt so bad, but I knew this relationship wouldn’t work.

Then there was Jonathan Eubanks. Jonathan was a hunk, had a good job, and plenty of money in the bank. However, I learned a man might appear to have himself together on the outside, but that certainly doesn’t mean he isn’t dealing with internal issues. I met him in my late twenties at a corporate function the law firm I worked at was hosting. I would soon find out that Jonathan had significant issues, and he would be another man who would turn my life upside down yet again.

Jonathan wined and dined me with dinner at the finest restaurants, Broadway plays, weekend getaways, and much more. This guy was every woman’s dream, or so I thought. We dated for about six months when things started going downhill, to my heart’s dismay. We would have arguments, mostly about my long working hours, and it was during these arguments I noticed Jonathan’s short temper. He would verbally abuse me by calling me a bitch and saying I could never get far in my career because I did not have the smarts, even though I was a junior partner. He would then apologize and pamper me until he fired off with his verbal attacks the next time.

I was getting apprehensive about this whole relationship and knew from experience his short temper could eventually escalate. I couldn’t help but think about all the abuse I suffered at an early age. After giving my baby up for adoption and ridding myself of all emotional ties to the father, it took me a while to start dating. Instead, I poured all my energy into discovering who I was, learning to love myself again, and furthering my education to become a lawyer. Ultimately, what I knew would happen, did. His verbal abuse turned physical.

Jonathan made plans to surprise me with a romantic candlelight dinner at my place. He ordered an array of food from an Italian restaurant, purchased an expensive bottle of red wine, and bought me two dozen long-stemmed red roses. He didn’t give me any clue of his plans, nor ensured I would be home. As it turned out, that night I had to work late and couldn’t call him to let him know. It was a long and tiring day for me, and all I wanted to do was go home and unwind. When I arrived home, I noticed only the hallway light was on. I called out for Jonathan, but he didn’t answer. Suddenly, coming from the living room, I heard feet tapping like that of someone anxiously waiting. I flipped on the light switch in the living room, and there he was, sitting on the couch.

I greeted him with a warm hello and moved in to kiss him on the cheek. When I did, his cheek felt like steel because he clenched his jaw so tight. I moved away, confused while noticing he looked agitated. I asked if he was okay, but he didn’t answer. I stood there looking at him for a few seconds, and then finally he spoke. He told me to go to the kitchen. That’s all he said. At that moment, I felt a hint of excitement rise in me, thinking maybe this was all an act, and once I walked into the kitchen, I would find a little black box with an engagement ring inside. I was always a big dreamer. However, that thought quickly exited my mind because his face told a different story.

I headed to the kitchen and was pleased to see what he had done. My heart melted, and the biggest smile formed across my face. I quickly turned around to head back to the living room to express my joy. When I turned around, he was standing right behind me, which caused me to jump back in surprise. The look of anger in his eyes was something that I was all too familiar. I immediately attempted to put out the fire before it became full-blown. I told him how beautiful everything looked and apologized for being late and not calling him. My apology was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Who would have ever thought an apology would incite such anger? He accused me of lying about where I was. I tried to explain why I had to stay late at work and why I couldn’t call him. My explanation was unacceptable to him, and he unleashed a storm of curse words. He was all in my face, and spit was flying everywhere. I saw his lips moving, but I wasn’t hearing him. My survival instincts came into play, and all I could think about was how I could get away from him without getting a beat down. From experience, I was sure that was coming next. Oh, how I wished I never gave him a key to my apartment.

I was frozen with fear and dared not utter a word because I knew anything I said would give him an excuse to hit me. Sadly, I had learned to deal with his verbal assaults, and as crazy as it sounds, I was thankful it never got physical. Once he finally finished his tirade, I stood there hoping against hope this was going to be the worst of it. I was tired. Tired from work. Weary from his verbal attacks. Tired of settling. I wanted to go to my bedroom and get away from him. I started walking away without saying a word. He forcibly grabbed me by my arm and pulled me back in front of him. He told me never to walk away from him unless he told me it was okay to do so. There was no way I was stronger than him physically, but I tried my hardest to free myself from his grasp. He let me go, but that wasn’t the end of it. The next thing I remember was the stinging sensation on my right cheek. Oh, hell no! I was in complete shock. The slap was so forceful I lost my footing and almost fell. It took me a minute to regroup from the pain and the flood of memories that barraged my mind.

This couldn’t be happening again. This type of abuse caused me to give up my baby. I had already let Jonathan’s verbal abuse slide because I had fallen in love with him. Or so I thought. I promised myself never to stay in an abusive relationship again, and I was not going back on my word.

After I got myself together, I dug deep within the depths of my soul and found the courage to tell