One of the Lucky Ones

By A.E. Lee

A.E. Lee's memoir, One of the Lucky Ones, describes her descent into, and eventual escape from, an abusive marriage.

By the time A.E. meets Don at a friend's party, she has accepted that she will always be the bridesmaid and never the bride. But a friendship quickly turns into something more, and soon her dreams of marriage and children are within reach - dreams really do come true! There is a beautiful wedding, followed by two beautiful babies and the start of A.E.'s teaching career.

She is sure that the loud, explosive fights are just evidence of the passion in their relationship. They always make up, of course, and he always apologizes and swears that he loves her. Things will improve, they must - they are in love, and on the cusp of an exciting future together.

Things do not improve, however - in fact, they get much worse. A.E. struggles to accept that she is a victim of domestic violence - unable to admit it to herself, she is too embarrassed to confess the truth to her family and friends, let alone ask for help.

One fateful August night changes everything, however. But escaping her home is just the beginning - what follows is a harrowing and humiliating journey through the justice system, where the rights of criminals are often valued more than those of the victims.

Through it all, A.E. Lee never loses hope. Determined to make a better life for herself and her children, she perseveres. She knows she is one of the lucky ones, and if her story can bring hope to even one-woman facing abuse, it will be enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885052825

Book preview

One of the Lucky Ones

A.E. LEE

Copyright © 2022 A.E. Lee

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2022

ISBN 979-8-88505-281-8 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88505-282-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

One day

You will tell your story

Of how you overcame

What you went through

And it will be

Someone else’s

Survival guide

—Brene Brown

To my parents, thank you for always believing in me (regardless if it was my childhood aspiration to be Alice and Wonderland or a writer).

Contents

Preface

Part 1

Chapter 1: Let’s Start at the Very Beginning

Chapter 2: Red Flags are Meant to be Ignored, Right?

Chapter 3: Band of Gold (or a Really Big Diamond Ring)

Chapter 4: Nowhere to Run

Chapter 5: And Baby Makes Three…Then Four!

Chapter 6: Enough

Chapter 7: So There’s This Hot Twenty-Four-Year-Old

Chapter 8: August 3, 2019

Part 2

Chapter 9: The Aftermath

Chapter 10: These are Going to be the Worst Days of My Life

Chapter 11: You Say Therapist, I Hear Psychic

Chapter 12: London Calling

Chapter 13: Things can Always be Worse

Chapter 14: The Mother-in-Law

Chapter 15: Things Got Worse…

Chapter 16: And Then, He Cheated

Chapter 17: Holy Crap, I’m Pregnant!

Chapter 18: Rock-Bottom

Chapter 19: Still Standing…a Conclusion of Sorts

Acknowledgments

Preface

I always liked the word preface better than foreword; sounds fancier.

—A.E. Lee

Every author I have ever read has said that their book was a labor of love. This was so much more; this was therapy. Writing this is what I turned to when I felt like I had hit rock bottom.

I have been told, as I am sure you have before, writing is therapeutic. I was resistant, however. When I was younger, I attempted to journal or keep a diary but with little success. I would go to Barnes and Noble, buy the prettiest journal, and dream of sitting under a tree and writing down my deepest, darkest secrets while pretending I was in some Jane Austen novel. Then, I would rush home, put pen to paper, and…nothing. I would get distracted, and eventually, the journal would end up in a junk drawer. I amassed quite the collection, and now, my five-year-old is enjoying all of them for her drawings.

It was not until my psychic (go ahead, roll your eyes) urged me to do something with the excess energy that was bottled up inside me. You have got to do something. We tried knitting and that didn’t work. Maybe write a book.

I laughed. Yeah, okay, sure, I’ll write a book. I will squeeze that into my life as a single, working mom while going for my second master’s degree. No problem.

But I actually did. I realized that maybe, just maybe, someone will read this and could be helped. Then, it will be worth it. My story is not a fairytale, and it is a reality that millions of women face every day. The only difference between me and many of them is that I got out.

I am a survivor of domestic violence. Even writing those words down now sends a chill up my spine. Survivor of domestic violence. I watch Lifetime, I’ve seen the afterschool specials, attended events in support of ending domestic violence. Hell, one of my favorite made-for-TV movies, No One Would Tell starring Candance Cameron Bure, is all about domestic violence.

The denial is what got me in the end. The denial that what I was experiencing day in and day out was domestic violence. The name-calling, the gaslighting, and even at times the physical violence. And I had seen what the survivors look like; I didn’t look like them. I had the perfect Instagram family: handsome husband, two beautiful children, and a big beautiful house in the suburbs of Washington, DC. I am an intelligent woman, but to have to say out loud that I was being abused is still too much for me to handle.

As you read my story, please know that yes, it is all factual, and yes, my children and I are safe. I am one of the lucky ones. Not only was I able to get away, I had the financial means to fight. The unfortunate reality is that domestic violence victims stay with their abusers because of fear and not having anywhere else to turn.

As I said, this is no fairy tale. Every word that details what happened to me over the course of that ten-year period is my own, pen to paper. There are highs and there are extreme lows, and through it all, I tried to maintain a sense of humor—after all, laughter through tears is my most favorite emotion.

Part 1

Chapter 1:

Let’s Start at the Very Beginning

Hold on, I think I need to pour a glass of wine for this.

—Chris Lewis (my dear friend)

I have always loved the movie 27 Dresses , which is the story of a hopeless romantic who is always a bridesmaid and never a bride and is just waiting for her turn to find true happiness. I could relate to it so well. I was ready for my chance—I wanted to get married and have children, something I had dreamed about since as long as I can remember. After buying my seventh bridesmaid’s dress, I had about enough. I was also in a four-year, long distance relationship that was going nowhere. I tried desperately to convince my boyfriend that we should get married, but fortunately for both of us, he was smart enough to realize that we were wrong for each other. (Don’t get me wrong, when he broke up with me three days before Christmas, I wanted to smash his face in, but I took a girls’ trip to Vegas a few days later and that helped me forget about things).

After the breakup, I proceeded to unhappily date around for a few months. I dated a guy who had breathalyzer in his car (something my friends will never let me forget), dated someone who said they were separated and turned out to be very much still married (still feel bad about that one), and dated someone who could have been an underwear model (one of my proudest accomplishments to date). I was still very unhappy, and I was ready to get married and have children. I was trying to speed up time, which generally does not work out in my favor ever. Enter the ex, Don.

Don and I met at a house party in Philadelphia. I’m from the city of Brotherly Love (go ahead and sing the Rocky theme song or the theme song from Fresh Prince, I get it all the time), and he was living just outside of Washington, DC. His college roommate, Hugo, happened to be dating my work colleague, Laura, and they were throwing a party. Laura told me, There would be a lot of single guys there, but as I walked into Hugo’s townhouse in central Philly and scanned the crowd, I didn’t see anyone I would be interested in.

As the drinks began to flow so did games of flip cup, and I began chatting with the people around me. Hugo introduced me to his friend, Don, who is not my usual type. He seemed well, nerdy. He had dark hair and glasses, and he was talking about the latest iPhone and Apple products. Then, he started going on and on about how he was half-Chinese and would be getting dim sum with his parents.

There was no initial spark, no fireworks. He seemed like a nice guy. We became Facebook friends, and honestly, I never thought I would see him again. Until one day in April.

I was sitting alone in my apartment, feeling very alone. It was a cozy one-bedroom apartment, French doors separating the bedroom from the living space. I loved that apartment and still do. It even had a washer and dryer in the unit, which was imperative back in the days that bars allowed smoking.

Don and I started messaging on Facebook; I cannot remember who messaged who first. I remember staring at my screen thinking, just go for it.

As I said, Don was not my typical type; however, my type did not seem to be working out so well for me. I messaged him and told him that we should see each other when he was in the Philadelphia area on an upcoming trip.

It was decided that he was going to come up one weekend in May, and we were going to hang out with Hugo and Laura. After the messages, I remember thinking, what have I done?

I immediately called Laura and told her. She said, No, just no. He is geographically undesirable.

I heard her, loud and clear. The last thing I wanted to do was another long-distance relationship, yet here I was pursuing one. I still remember saying to her, I hear you. Let’s just see what happens. I mean, I’ve got nothing to lose.