The first time I left Chris, I was seventeen and pregnant. After my father and stepmother kicked me out of the house, I knew I was headed for destitution until my late mother’s parents—my grandparents—offered to take me in. I don’t know what I would have done without them, although I would soon find out. For eighteen months, I was riding high. I had free babysitting while I was in school, I had food and shelter, I had warmth in the winter. When they decided to move to Florida to a retirement home, I didn’t dare stand in their way. They were older, and dealing with me and an infant had been difficult for them. Still, they asked me all the time if I’d be okay. I said I’d be fine.

I wasn’t fine. I tried to stay in college, but eventually I had to drop out and work to support my son and myself. I wasn’t qualified to do much at twenty, and getting a babysitter for Gabe was not financially feasible. I finally found a job at a twenty-four-hour diner with a very kind boss who allowed me to waitress at night and bring Gabriel with me. There was a crib next to the dishwasher, and I think the constant swishing acted as white noise. Thank God he was a good sleeper. Most of the customers were decent, some were scuzzy, and a few were downright creepy. The work was grueling, and the hours were long. I spent a lot of time there. I made friends with other waitresses, some who let me know that there were less arduous ways to get quick cash.

Especially with a face like yours.

I was never tempted.

When Chris found me, Gabe and I were living in a cold-water studio in the middle of winter in Chicago. He took us to a hotel and up to his suite. He fed us dinner. Then he had rough sex with me in the bedroom while Gabe watched cartoons in the living room. I figured he got his revenge and that was that. No one was as surprised as I was when he showed up the next day and told me to pack my bags.