A little backstory would serve my story right. At 15, I ran away from the small Kentucky town I’d grown up in. My father was a mean, abusive drunk and my mother was no help. I found myself in Georgia, where I worked as a [redacted] and lived in the Tracy Lane Inn. The motel was infested with mold and rats, but somehow my lifestyle made the motel look like the Ritz. Even though I’d abandoned my parents, their strict Catholic upbringing followed me into the darkest parts of my life. I prayed every night for release, for help, for love.
When Michael came into my life- the 6’2”, sweaty, undeniably gorgeous truck driver- I was head over heels. This was God’s plan if I’ve ever known it.
Less than a month into our relationship, I fell pregnant. He moved me into his house and promised he’d stop drinking after I’d told him the abuse I’d suffered at the hands of my father. Three months after our baby girl came, I missed my period. A baby boy came next, then a baby girl, followed by two more baby girls. I should have specified that a core Catholic belief is the refusal of birth control, which Michael did not mind.
At first, I was a wonderful mother. I don’t say that to be arrogant, but it is the truth. But by the fifth baby, I had grown so tired. I had been a mother for 14 years, knowing nothing but breastfeeding, potty training, helping with sibling fights and never getting a minute to myself. You could imagine the shock waves running through my body when the pregnancy test came out positive- we’d be welcoming a sixth.
I suggested to Michael that a nanny would be helpful. His salary could support it. I’d cut down back on the money spent buying milk, and breastfeed the new baby full time instead. Michael had shrugged- his way of saying “if that’s what you want, sure.”
Sofia was a God send. She knew her way around all the kids so perfectly- and they all adored her. Sofia and I also became close. She told me she had experience with kids as an oldest sister, and she was hopeful of a bright future as a preschool teacher. She’d fall asleep on the couch under a mountain of resting children above her. I could not have asked for better help.
It was great for a while.
Michael had given up his promise of sobriety, which caused a shift in our marriage. We stopped having sex. We began fighting. Every night, I cried until my eyes became swollen, thinking about what would happen if he left me and our babies. How would we survive? I’d only known one real job my entire life, and no money in the world could make me return.
Besides, I know the thought of me working as a [redacted] would kill him inside. The thought of him visiting a [redacted] to get himself off killed me too, so I tried my hardest to make him want me every chance I could. It didn’t matter if he was drunk- maybe it would make it easier for him to sleep with me.
I don’t think the problem was the alcohol. I think it was my age.
I began noticing him looking at Sofia a few months ago. At first, it was quick glances. Then, it was lingering eyes and quiet conversations between the two of them. They’d stop talking when I wandered into the room. I caught him smelling her hair and forced myself to tend to my son instead.
I couldn’t fire her, so please don’t ask why I didn’t. I need the help. I was so tired all the time, and couldn’t bear to deal with the kids asking where Sofia had gone. They’d miss her so much, and the emotional toll it would have on their little hearts- I just couldn’t.
Sofia wore her hair in two braids every day, with ribbons at the bottom. One night, I tied my hair together the same way, and stopped to look at myself in the mirror. Michael came into the bathroom and bent me over the sink, breaking our six month no sex streak.
As hard as I tried to ignore his attraction to Sofia, it became overwhelming a few months later. He had been disappearing at night, going out to drink a staggering amount of alcohol every night without fail. I decided to creep out of my room and wait for him on the couch, ready to scream at him the second he came through the front door. But he never did. The kids were beginning to wake up, so I crept back up to my room before I stopped dead in my tracks. I put my ear to Sofia’s door, focusing on the short whimpers. I cracked the door open a couple of inches.
My husband held Sofia down, completely naked. I stood still, but my foot creaked on the loose floorboard.
Sofia’s head shot in my direction. Her eyes were pleading, filled with absolute terror.
“Mom,” She cried, “Please help.”
So, yeah. Does anyone have advice? It really gets on my nerves the way my husband looks at our nanny :(