the part no one wants to hear

(they’ll say she was too much. she died being too much.)

i know what you’ll say.
what did you do.
we know you’re difficult.
you poke.
you’re insane.

yes.
i’m insane.
you made me this way.
with the hits,
the sexual abuse,
the brutality.
it rewired me.

i bite.
i used to bite hard.

but this—this was different.
i was healing.
i was medicated.
i was changing my nervous system.

and then i caught him.
fucking with me.
manipulating me.
lying.
stealing.
i was pregnant.

and when i yelled,
because yes, i fucking yelled—
he snapped.

i was three months pregnant when it started.
started asking,
where did the money go?
where are my meds?
why can’t i see your phone?
did you really steal a grand off my credit card?

i was paying for our life.
cleaning houses while vomiting.
buying him a car.
paying for his dog.
i was sick.
pregnant.
and alone.

i yelled.
because he was doing terrible things in plain sight.

and when i yelled,
he pinned me.

first it was restraint.
shoving.
pinning me to the bed.
(i’d seen this before)

i was pregnant.
he was trained.

so i hit back.
kicked.
begged.

but it escalated.

you fought me like it was war.
forearm against my throat.
shin pressed down.
hand over my mouth—
don’t scream, bitch.

i did anyway.
the neighbors heard.
they called.
you punched my car.
they saw it.
they knew.

i lied for you.
(and i don’t lie)
told them i was fine.
told them it was me.
i’m crazy.

i always protect the men who try to kill me.

i told my clients i slipped on ice.
i told my doctor i fell down the stairs.

and no one pressed harder.
no one dug deeper.
no one saved me.

then came the statistic.

7–8 months pregnant.
we were arguing.
you snapped.
you jumped on me.
wrapped your hands around my throat
and started to squeeze.

i stopped screaming.
your eyes were empty.
you wanted me dead.

and i felt it.
the chill in my body
that told me
you could do it.
you would.

you spit in my face in the hallway.
punched me over and over.
on the ground.
on my head.
you beat your pregnant wife.
while i was supporting you financially.
while i was still trying to make it make sense.

the week i gave birth,
it happened again.

you beat me so severely
i thought my baby died.

she stopped moving.

i had two black eyes.
a busted lip.
lacerations.
bruises.
head trauma.

nine months pregnant.

and when i told people?
they said:

you picked him.
you trusted him.
you’re a little much.

yeah.
i am.

so when they make my true crime documentary—
make sure you say that on camera.

she was too much.

she died being too much.