Before he wakes

S e v e n

Myron and I were together for nine years when I fell pregnant with our daughter, Hazel. We were both very excited but made sure to take extra care and have regular checkups after what had happened with Liam. She was born in late October and she was a real blessing. She had thick black hair and big green eyes. Mother cried and said she was the spitting image of me when I was young. Our family was finally complete and we coudn't be happier.

I'm happy to say that the following years after the first incident of Myron hitting me, he kept to his word and never once harmed me. I was his lovely wife and he wouldn't ever let anything hurt me. When our daughter was born, Myron had taken us both in his arms and had promised over and over that he wouldn't ever let anyone harm us, we were his girls.

Unfourtunatly, by the time Hazel was six, that promise was nothing but a forgotten fourtune. By the time Hazel was seven, we were living prisoners in our own home. Everyday we were living in fear of what would happen next. I had resigned from my job at the newspaper office as soon as Hazel was born as Myron said it was my duty to stay home and look after her. I spent each day thoroughly cleaning the house from top to bottom, on my hands and knees. Everything had to be done a particular way, cleaned to perfection. I felt like I was stuck in a different time period. But I knew better then to talk back to my husband.

"A woman should not speak with such filth, you should speak with respect, I'll knock that out of you straight away." He had once threatened when I accidently had cursed after banging my foot on the edge of the dining room table.

The loving, caring man that I fell in love with became a controlling monster. The young, hardworking woman that I once was became an exhausted, desperate girl.

Hazel was a very small and timid child. She was very beautiful and was always the centre of attention, although she was extremly shy and wouldn't speak unless spoken to. Everybody adored her. Her liqourice coloured hair was shoulder lenghth and I often tied it into a french braid with a purple ribbon and Hazel would gasp delightidly, examiming herself in the mirror, twirling left and right to see her new hairstyle from all angles. Mother had always complimented how grown up she looked. She was very smart and enjoyed going to school. The staff spoke very highly of her and called her their "favourite little helper." She had many friends and was the girl all the children longed to be friends with. She was kind to all of her classmates and made sure nobody was left out. I felt very proud of her. Hazel and I were the best of friends, not just mother and daughter. As Hazel grew older, Myron became more persistent in his control over us, though at times it was very hard to acknowledge. Hazel had grown up in a household where bad manners led to severe punishment. When she was just two years old, Hazel had thrown a tantrum in the middle of a busy supermarket one afternoon and Myron had taken her straight home and hit her with the belt that he kept in his bed side table for such wrong doings. I had been making dinner in the kitchen when I had heard an ear piercing scream and I shot off running through the house to find Myron restraining our daughter as she kicked and screamed on the bedroom floor, red in the face.

"Help me hold her down!" He had demanded, reaching for his belt and looping it around his hands while Hazel fought under her Fathers weight. I had screamed at him to get off of her but he insisted he taught her a lesson to 'snap her' into shape.

"Hastings women don't act like wild bleedin animals in public! I will not be humliated like that again. Ever!"

I had lunged at him, clawing at his back, thumping him hard with my fists in fear of my child being badly harmed, but Myron had swung the belt aimlessly and caught the side of my jaw with an almighty crack. I had fallen to the floor, clutching the side of my face in antagonising agony. I lay on the ground, my eyes parted only slightly, my mouth throbbing.