When the prosecutor asked her how many times her husband had beaten her, she was silent. She looked at the room full of witnesses waiting for her answer. Accusing eyes, ready to point out the hatred locked up in some actions. She also saw her haggard, thin, sad husband John in the corner. She thought that perhaps she had not eaten or slept well for days. She felt very sorry for him. John was a man who suffered from gastritis, so she was always on the lookout for him to eat what the doctor had put him on as a diet: nothing fatty, everything grilled, no seasoning. Poor John, she thought, who would be feeding him.

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When she married John, she was only 20 years old and he was 40. She had met him in college when she was studying biology and he was a simple laborer. Her parents opposed the relationship between them almost immediately. But John told her not to listen to them, that they didn't want him because he was poor and a simple worker. She agreed and played deaf to his parents' words. They got married after three months of courtship. Then came the pregnancy and she had to leave the university. Although everyone believed that John had forced her to leave her studies, he had only made her see how difficult it would have been to combine her work as a mother and her classes at the university. That's why he stopped studying, that's why he didn't graduate and that's why he stayed home to do the housework.

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It's true he lost all his friendships, especially the ones that always came with stories about John. They always came to the house on any pretext and always ended up saying the same thing: Yesterday I saw your husband with another woman. Others would say: I saw your husband go into a hotel. The more daring ones would ask: you know that your husband is unfaithful to you? Once, tired of so many rumors, she asked John why so much gossip. He refused to give her any kind of explanation, but forbade her not only to listen to those women, but also to let them into her house. So she was left without friends, because little by little she got away from them. She thought that deep down it had been better, since they no longer came to her with the gossip and she did not give him those strong headaches of so much listening to them.

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The first time John hit her, he did it for a mistake. He told her it was a mistake and that she should forgive him. She forgave him. The second and third time, it was also a mistake and she forgave him again. Every time John hit her, in the end he was the one who ended up crying, kneeling, repenting like a child who has done something wrong. She sometimes felt guilty because she was clumsy about some things and made her husband angry about everything. After those acts of violence, she would stay home for a few weeks until the bruises and scratches were gone, or she would simply cover her body with long pants and long-sleeved shirt. That way she avoided any kind of questions.

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Once, while he was hitting her and even though she said: Not the face, not the face. John's anger blinded him and left a mark on his face. On that occasion, she had to spend a month without leaving her house and when she did, people asked her about that scar and she had to say that she had fallen. She knew that if she told the truth, the neighbors and friends would denounce John and she thought about the future of her children, that maybe they would die of hunger, in her family. Also, because John always promised her that he would change and she believed him. It's just a matter of time and patience, she said to herself as she healed her wounds in front of the mirror.

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So when the prosecutor asked her if her husband had ever hit her, she looked at the man who was small in the corner, thin and wrinkled, and she felt very sorry for him, so she said no. The prosecutor insisted again: Has this man been violent to you? And she said, "No". Even though he had tried to burn down the house with her inside, she agreed with him. Some neighbours had told her that she would leave him and he had told her that he would kill her for love. She thought that love is like the boleros say: love kills, love hurts, love is blind and one suffers for love. What she did not know is that there is a greater love, self-love, which is above others and is superior.

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I hope that reading this story will make you reflect. I remind you that you can vote for @adsactly as a witness and join our servant in discord. Until the next smile. ;)

Written by: @nancybriti

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