Join Our Newsletter

The bastard made a sign out of cardboard, labeling me with the word ‘SLUT’, and forced me to parade down the street carrying it. I was so mad, humiliated. All because I spoke to another man? I couldn’t believe how cruel he could be. After that, I was too ashamed to even leave the house. How dare he treat me like that? It was like he was trying to strip away everything. I won’t let him get away with it.
UNSEEN ECHOES - Objects of Domestic Abuse | Photography Project & Exhibition

Sign

The bastard made a sign out of cardboard, labeling me with the word ‘SLUT’, and forced me to parade down the street carrying it.

I didn’t want to. I fought him, begged him, but none of it mattered. He stood over me, sneering, waiting. “You want to act like a slut? Let’s make sure everyone knows.”

My hands shook as I gripped the edges of the sign, the cardboard rough against my fingertips. Every step down that street felt like a thousand needles piercing my skin.

People stared. Some laughed, some whispered, some just looked away, pretending they didn’t see. But I saw them. I felt every single pair of eyes burning into me.

I was so mad. Humiliated.

And all because I spoke to another man?

A simple conversation, nothing more. A polite exchange at the shop, a smile, a few words. But to him, that was betrayal. To him, that was enough.

I couldn’t believe how cruel he could be.

But I should have known.

After that, I was too ashamed to even leave the house. The thought of facing those same people again, of seeing their smirks, their judgment, their pity—I couldn’t do it.

And that’s what he wanted.

It was never just about punishing me. It was about making sure I stayed punished. About stripping away every bit of dignity, every bit of confidence, every bit of me.

But I won’t let him get away with it.

He wanted to break me.

But he’ll regret ever thinking he could.

share this story:

Facebook
Twitter
LinkedIn
WhatsApp
Email

More stories

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

I always bought a card for my daughter, even though I couldn’t send it. Not knowing where she was, I kept it hidden away. He wouldn’t let me stay in touch with her after my ex took her.

But one day, I’ll find out where she is. Then, I’ll give her all those cards, just to show her I never stopped thinking about her.

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

Every morning there was a cup of tea waiting for me in the kitchen. Always in the same broken cup. I hated that cup, I wanted to smash it, but that would just get me in trouble. She would also leave the teabag and spoon for me to clean up.

She did it to remind me that I was a broken mess and that nobody would want me.

The thought of it still makes me feel sad and lonely.

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

He took control of my banking, wanting to know every penny I had and where it went. I couldn’t have my own money. He watched everything. He’d even take cash from my account, moving it to his if he thought I had too much.

I dreamed of using that money to break free, but there was no hiding it from him. Every time I thought I had enough, he’d take it away.

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

He was a control freak. He made schedules for everything, even when I could eat or sleep. I was too scared to do anything differently.

I didn’t have the freedom to choose for myself.

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

He hid my tablets, so I had to ask for them. Sometimes, I even had to beg. He knew how important they were for me.

Without them, I’d be in pain. It was like he had control over me. It made me feel powerless.

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

He knew when I got paid on Fridays. The money would go straight into my bank account, but he’d make me go to the cashpoint to withdraw it.

I worked my butt off all week for that cash, but I never got to keep any of it. It felt like all my hard work was for nothing, like he was just using me so he could go to the pub.

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.