Some Background on Me... Ms. C

I lost my first child when I was 19. She was beautiful and perfect. I held her for hours after she was born. She was a little past her due date and for no reason the autopsy could find, she died when I was in labour. I still cry about it now, 21 years later. I had two more beautiful girls with her father and then we divorced.

Then I met the first truly abusive man in my life. I will call him Bill. He was about ten years older than I was. He had other children and had been married twice. I had just turned 24 the week before I met him and he seemed to be nice enough. We started living together and I didn't really notice the control he had over me. My parents mentioned it but I said they were overreacting. I moved from BC to Ontario with him and things went to Hell quickly.

For three and a half years, he abused me and my two girls. I had a baby about two and a half years into living in Ontario and by the time she was 18 months old, Bill tried to kill me. So I need out and fast. I met Carl (not his real name) online in 1997. He is the reason for this blog. He is also the reason Canada needs better child custody laws, as well as better laws to protect women and children.
Carl offered to move me to the city he was living in. It was approximately ten hours from where I was living and it seemed like a safe place. I highly doubted that Bill would go looking for me there. I said yes. Carl and his friends would come and move me.

Was it a good idea? Not really. The man I had chatted with online and spoken to on the phone seemed so sweet and caring. I had a general idea of what he looked like but most of that was a shock to me as well.

Carl walked in my house with a bunch of people. He was swearing right away. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I swear a lot but this was my first meeting with him. What kind of first impression is that? He was shorter than he had told me and he was about 300 pounds. He was dressed like he had just finished working on a car. He had holes in his clothes and they were all stained. His jacket pocket was torn and the pocket was hanging there, looking forlorn. He needed a haircut desperately and his attempt at growing a mustache was laughable. The entire time I was taking all of this in, he was asking me if I was drunk and what the f*** was I doing, sleeping on the couch? (It was 3 am). I couldn't back out. I had just been released from the hospital a few days earlier, after the attack from Bill and I had to move so the kids and I could be safe.