I married you because I was told that you were the best man in the world. I was told that you would take good care of me and that you love me.
You brought me home that night, a young bride with stars in her eyes and dreams in her heart…and you raped me.
I married you because in my time we didn’t get a choice; we weren’t asked if at 16, I was ready for marriage and what follows marriage. We were only told to make our husbands happy, to make our in-laws happy, to make the entire world happy.
I tried to make you happy, your parents happy, your entire world happy…and I don’t remember the last time I was happy.
I married you because if I didn’t, I would get beaten, my mother would get beaten and I didn’t want that. I thought getting married to the best man in the world would be a worthy escape for my unworthy soul.
You helped this hopeful young girl escape…from a house where I was beaten every other night to a house where I’m beaten every night. I do not remember what I look like without bruises anymore.
I married you because I didn’t want to get kicked out on to the street, I didn’t want to be ostracized and pointed at and made fun of.
You saved me from all of that…by bringing all of it from the street into the house. You kick me to the kerb once every day; your parents lock me in the kitchen so that they can treat me like their personal slave; and my own sons make fun of me. I don’t need to fear being kicked out anymore. The streets have encroached into this very house and in fact, I think the streets are better than my life in your house.
I married you because I was promised a life, with a husband and as a member of a new, loving family.
You have, instead, opened my eyes to my reality. That for a girl in my position, life is but a dream. I used to have such dreams once…but, again, dear husband, you helped a young girl see the truth- that I’m not supposed to be dreaming.
I can hear your mother calling me from the kitchen. I hear your father’s scooter spluttering to a stop outside. I think the children are home too. It’s a good thing, after all, that they’re all together. That way, when they discover the body, they can all do it together, as a new, loving family, without me…or you.
My dear family…this is my goodbye.