She would leave money on the table. It made me feel cheap that she would never give it to me. Said it was for the shopping. I had to make it stretch, get everything on her list, no excuses. Sometimes, though, it wasn’t enough, and I’d have to beg or steal to get everything. Couldn’t go back without it all, it made her mad. I tried to use it once to make a break for it, but she tracked me down. There was no escape.

Money

She would leave money on the table. Never handed it to me, never even acknowledged it. Just left it there like a reminder. Like proof of what little control I had.

It made me feel cheap. Like I wasn’t even worth the effort of a conversation.

Said it was for the shopping.

I had to make it stretch, get everything on her list, no excuses.

There was never any extra. Never enough to buy myself anything—not a coffee, not a snack, not even a bar of soap if we ran out. Every penny had a purpose, and if I got the numbers wrong, I paid for it in other ways.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t enough, and I’d have to beg or steal to get everything.

Couldn’t go back without it all. That made her mad.

Once, I tried explaining. Said the prices had gone up, that I couldn’t get everything with what she gave me. She just looked at me, eyes cold, and said, “Figure it out.”

So I did.

Stole fruit from market stalls, slipped tins into my coat pocket when no one was looking. Begged strangers for change, lying through my teeth about forgetting my wallet.

And she never asked how I managed it. Never cared, as long as I walked through the door with everything on her list.

But I had an idea.

One day, I didn’t go shopping.

I took the money and ran. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t care. I just needed out. I bought a train ticket—one way, anywhere. For the first time in years, I felt like I had a choice.

But she tracked me down.

I don’t know how. Maybe she had people watching. Maybe she just knew me too well.

There was no escape.

She made sure of that.

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UNSEEN ECHOES - Objects of Domestic Abuse | Photography Project & Exhibition

I wasn’t allowed on the bed. Every night, I’d try to sneak onto it, hoping for a moment of comfort, but she’d always shove me off.

I made it as comfortable as I could, with a cushion and a blanket, but it still felt like I was being treated like an animal. Lying there, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being less than human, undeserving of even a basic place to sleep.

I wanted to apply for a job, nothing fancy, just working at the local shop. But he wouldn’t let me. He kept insisting that I should stay at home. All I wanted was to do something, to meet people, but he shut down all those possibilities.

It felt like he was holding me back from living my life, from being independent.

I used to leave flowers in the window, like my own secret signal to the world. It felt comforting, like a silent message saying I was okay.

But on days when I forgot, I got scared. What if someone noticed the missing flowers and came looking? What would happen if she answered the door? She would find out what I was doing.

I still put flowers in my window now. Now that I am safe. I just want to let people know.

She always appeared wherever I went, and I couldn’t figure out how. Later, I found out she’d put tracking software on my phone.

I felt trapped, like I couldn’t escape no matter where I went. It was like she was watching me all the time.

She’d snatch my phone every chance she got, always poking around in it, reading my messages, and checking who I’d called. It felt like I had no space to breathe, no privacy at all.

My phone wasn’t just a device anymore; it was a leash, and she held the other end tight. Freedom? Forget about it.

I painted the bathroom mirror with black paint. I just couldn’t face looking at myself anymore. He kept saying I was ugly every day. Not just once. Every time he looked at me he said it. I heard it so much I believed it. I couldn’t go out. I couldn’t even look at myself.

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