Join Our Newsletter

One morning, I walked into the bathroom to shave, and there it was, written in bold letters on the mirror: ‘BITCH’. He knew I’d see it, every morning, without fail. It didn’t happen just once, he did it every day, in places he knew I couldn’t avoid. Seeing those words staring back at me, mocking me, was worse than if he’d just said it to my face.
UNSEEN ECHOES - Objects of Domestic Abuse | Photography Project & Exhibition

Mirror

One morning, I walked into the bathroom to shave, and there it was.

Written in bold letters on the mirror:

‘BITCH’

The word stared back at me, waiting. He knew I’d see it, every morning, without fail.

At first, I thought maybe it was a joke. A twisted one, but still—a joke. Maybe he’d had too much to drink the night before, maybe it was just some cruel little prank.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Every day, in places he knew I couldn’t avoid. The mirror. The fridge door. The inside of my wardrobe. Written in soap, in marker, in condensation left behind from the shower.

A reminder. A label. A sentence passed down to me like it was fact.

I tried wiping it away quickly, pretending it didn’t bother me. But it did. Because seeing those words staring back at me, mocking me, was worse than if he’d just said it to my face.

Because when someone speaks, you can argue. You can tell yourself they didn’t mean it. You can convince yourself you misheard.

But when it’s written down, in your own home, on something you have to look at every single day—there’s no escaping it.

And the worst part?

A small, quiet part of me started to believe it.

share this story:

Facebook
Twitter
LinkedIn
WhatsApp
Email

More stories

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

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.

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

At first, it was just a bit of harmless fun, just a game we played.

But he started leaving for longer periods. He would go to the pub. I was scared. I dreaded his return and what he might do. I didn’t know what state he would be in.

Sometimes he would bring other men home. To use me for fun or to pay off his debts. I would lay there. I couldn’t run away.

I wanted it to stop. I wanted to die.

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

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.

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

I loved that bench. It became my sanctuary, a place where I could find peace away from the chaos. I couldn’t stay for too long though, he would notice I was gone and come looking for me.

Those precious moments were all I needed. A sense of calm that I could hold onto.

Read More
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.

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

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.

Read More

A New Name

The Same Mission

We have changed our name back to The Narrator’s Lens, but we are still the Christopher James Hall Foundation—just under a new name. Our mission and values remain the same, and we continue to create impactful projects, raise awareness, and drive change.

This rebrand is part of our journey towards becoming a charity, allowing us to expand our reach and make an even greater difference. While our name has changed, our commitment to amplifying voices and making a lasting impact remains as strong as ever.

Help Give People Like
Krystoff a Voice

Your support can make a real difference. People like Krystoff have powerful stories that deserve to be heard, and with your donation, we can continue to give them a platform. Every contribution helps us create exhibitions, amplify voices, and drive change. Donate today and be part of the movement.