I was on a high. Such a high. In the car on the way back from court my SOIT Officer called. I knew she wanted this almost as much as me. She had been there from the beginning, had a child and come back to work in the time it had taken to get justice.
We decided we needed to celebrate. Curry and champagne. We went home, picked up the children and congregated at my mum’s. My eldest was poorly and went straight to bed there, we stayed down and celebrated.
She didn’t want curry. They both wanted Pizza. I collected the pizzas and took it upstairs to her in bed. It struck me that her I am with my daughter at an age I was suffering abuse from him. I closed my eyes and saw an image of my at the same age. I was smiling. Really smiling. “We did it” I thought, “we did it, I told you I would keep you safe”.
It’s weird. Since being pregnant the first time around, more than a decade before, I started saying “we”. And I notice that I have never stopped. I know I have sisters but it feels more than that. It feels like we is me and little me. And now little me was happy.
We ate our curry, opened the champagne, and celebrated.
By the time we got home, the sadness kicked in. I should be on top of the world. But instead I felt sad. So sad. Because, it had still happened. He had still abused me. For years. And he had put us through two trials to get here.
I just wanted to shut down and go to bed.