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Abuse / Survival Stories > My Father Raped My Mother

My Father Raped My Mother

My Father Raped My Mother

I can remember my father when I was young, I was his little girl. I am the youngest child in my family, the second daughter. My father never really wanted a second child but my mother did not want to leave my sister as an only child. My dad had his doubts but when they finally had me, 3 years after my sister he said I changed his mind the moment he saw me. We had a connection; I really was his baby girl. I can remember the good times with him, times when he would pick me up and put me on his lap or take me trucking with him. Those times stick out in my head, those times are the only reason I still talk to him.

My father had my mother trapped in their relationship, the only reason she ever stayed was for my sister and I. When we were kids, my parents would fight. We would always here my dad yell and scream but never my mom; she just took it from him. He would come home from a bad day at work and take it out on her. She did the best she could to hide it from us but you can only hide it for so long. I can remember my sister and me hiding in my room while he screamed at her because my sister and I were scared to talk to him. We could here everything and we saw them through the vent in my room. All I really remember is my dad saying "if those kids don't want to talk to me then send them to a foster home, I don't care." Its words like that that really stick out in your mind. You never forget hearing someone who is suppose to love you say that. I have countless little memories like this from my childhood. It just got worse and worse. He never hit my sister or me, just my mother. I never really knew what he was doing to my mom, I knew he yelled at her but that was it. I think my sister knew but just tried to protect me from it. Things started to get really bad between them, to the point where you could have cut the tension with a knife if we were all in the same room together. I remember seeing bruises on my moms arm, like hand print. Four little dots on her left arm as if someone had held her down. It wasn't till later on that I found out what they were really from.

The situation in our home had become horrible, my father accused my mother of cheating and he made her pay for it. I was gone to my friend's house for the night, he lived just down the hill from me and I went there a lot during those times. My sister was also gone somewhere for the weekend. I came home the next morning and I could tell something was just not right. I found out later that my father had raped my mother that night. A few days later we left, it wasn't easy to get out of the house. It was late at night, pitch black outside and pouring rain. My sister and I heard them fighting, mom came into my room and brought me to my sisters room. We locked ourselves in while my father banged on the door. My mom phoned her friend to meet us downtown by our school. I went to my room and put some clothes in a bag; I looked up and saw my sister run down the hall. My dad stopped her in the kitchen and yelled at her for trying to leave, I stayed in my room. I swear if she hadn't of walked out the door he would have hit her too. My mom and I followed, we made it to the kitchen and he turned around on us. My mom told me to put on my shoes and my dad started to yell. He turned around, swung his arm over the counter and sent 2 cans of paint flying all over the dining room. He started begging my mom to stay. She opened the door and told me to go, she'd be right behind me. I stood there glued to that spot; I was too terrified to move. I started to yell that I was not leaving with out my mom. She told me to go and I just cried and yelled "no, no." She put on her shoes and started to follow, we walked half way down the hill. My father came to the door and yelled to me to stay, saying that he would change, it would never happen again. We kept walking down the hill in the rain; we were soaked in about a minute. My friends dad just happened to be pulling out of his drive way and saw us. He drove us to the police station, at the time my father was an auxiliary police officer. My mother went inside to talk to an office who was a friend of my fathers. I sat in the backseat of the car with my friend's dad and sobbed. The officer went to talk to my dad and my mom and me went to the school and met up with my sister and my mom's friend. When we got there my mom's friend had called the man who is now my step dad. He had been a family friend and was recently divorced; he lived with his son. I could always tell he loved my mom but could never do anything about it. If it wasn't for him my father would most likely have killed my mother. He saved us from him. After that night we never went back to my father we stayed with my step dad. The next few weeks were terrible. Police men patrolled our street regularly to keep my dad from coming. My sister, step brother and I didn't go to school for about two weeks. We were almost prisoners in our own house, in fear that my dad would come for us. He tried to come to the house several times, he stopped only after my mom, sister and I all had restraining orders placed against him. Then came the charges my mother had to lay against my dad for the abuse and the rape. In the end it was settled with my mother having an order against my dad to stay away from her for a minimum of five years. She never did anything more in fear that if he went to prison, once he got out he might kill her.

I was 13 years old when this happened and I did not speak to my father for two years; my sister still to this day has not said a word to him. In September it will be four years. I now live happily with my mother and step father, I have a small, confusing relationship with my father. We have our ups and downs but I will never be able to look at him like I did when I was a child. He hurt my mother, sister and I for so many years. He has changed the way I look at men and the way I trust men. I can't imagine what things would be like if my step dad had not been there to help us. I honestly don't think my mother would be alive. I have told very few people this story, saying the words "my father raped my mother" out loud make me sick to my stomach. It is something I think about almost every day though. I think "how can I even talk to this man after what he has done." There are just so many mixed emotions, I hate him so much but how does someone hate there father? I think I will ask myself this for the rest of my life.




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