By the end of 1994, I was completely exhausted — mentally, emotionally, and physically. I didn’t have the strength for one more argument or one more beating. I just wanted it to end. One night after Nate had pushed me around, cursed, and yelled at me for hours, I poured out all my sorrow and grief to God. “Lord, I’m ready to be with you,” I prayed. “I don’t care if I live or die.”
I hugged my knees to my chest, wishing for one moment that I might die then and there so I could be safe with God forever. Then, in the same moment, I suddenly wanted Tré to know this same love I had for God — how I felt like he was hugging me through all these painful times.
“God, let me live,” I whispered. “Let me live so I can teach Tré to love you like I do.” In that moment, more than anything, I wanted to live. I wanted to survive, so I could be the one to teach Tré to love God with all his heart, soul, and mind. I wanted him to grow up strong and healthy and become a godly man. It didn’t matter what else I had to go through if it meant that Tré had what he needed.
CHAPTER 19
The Good Life
Success makes life easier. It doesn’t make living easier.
Bruce Springsteen
As the 1994 season began, the Cowboys were coming off back-to-back Super Bowl championships and were at their peak. Nate was in his prime as a professional athlete and had grown wealthy. So when Nate spotted a rat one night at our modest home in Coppell, that was it — it was time to move! Nate decided he wanted to build his own home. He wanted land and privacy — a respite from everything that had to do with the Dallas Cowboys.
Nate put me in charge of getting the house built. He wanted to pay for everything with cash — no mortgage, no debt. As long as I stayed within the budget and the house was comfortable for entertaining, Nate trusted me to take care of all the details. It was one of the nicest things Nate ever did for me.
It was wonderful to have the freedom to make decisions. Planning and working with the builder made me feel important, and I enjoyed the process. Nate never once complained about any decisions I made or the furniture I chose. He seemed genuinely excited as the house took shape, and he enjoyed listening to me ramble on and on about the details of the build. Focusing on the project was a good diversion, and for the most part, things went well between us.
We had a wonderful builder, and he was around often enough to see us in unguarded moments when things were not so nice between Nate and me. He never witnessed any outright physical abuse, but he seemed to know that things were not all they appeared to be, and he was especially gentle and kind with me.
The only blowup Nate and I had about the house happened when the builders made a mistake with the front of the house. I wanted it to be a certain way, but the builders did something else. I decided I could live with it, but when Nate found out about it, he was livid. He did not want me to settle for what had happened. We scheduled a meeting with our builder, but before going in, Nate threatened me that I better fix this. In other words, I had to insist they fix it exactly like I wanted it in the first place without any change in the price. I was horrified. I didn’t want to make a fuss with the builders, but I also didn’t want to make Nate angry. I went into the meeting to discuss the problem, but before the meeting was over, I was yelling. I felt so terrible about the whole thing. As I left the meeting, I asked God to forgive me and hoped that the men would somehow understand that the person they saw wasn’t who I really was. I was upset about it for days afterward.
Just as the house was finished and we were ready to move in, it was time for Tré to begin kindergarten. Even though Fort Worth Christian School was an hour-long drive from the new house, it was important to me to keep Tré there. I wanted him to be in a Christian environment that reinforced the values I was teaching him at home. It was a good school — and the right one for Tré. I didn’t mind the drive at all, because being away from home was good for me too.
My best friend from college, Sheila, was in the process of moving to Atlanta, and I knew I was going to miss her. I was making new friends at Tré’s school, but as usual, most people were interested in becoming my friend more because I was Nate Newton’s wife and less because I was Dorothy. But within a week of school starting, I met Ingrid at Tré’s Tae Kwon Do class. She noticed people flopping all over me, bringing me things for Nate to autograph or wanting to talk about football, and she kept her distance. I noticed her because she was not seeking me out, so I introduced myself to her. We were about to throw a birthday party for Tré at Texas Stadium with five hundred people in attendance. When I invited Ingrid, she was shocked since I didn’t really know her. But I sensed she was genuine, and I believed we would become friends. We started driving to Tae Kwon Do tournaments together, and before long, we became very close friends.
Nate was gone a lot, and Ingrid’s husband, Monte, was an executive who worked long hours. When our kids were in school, Ingrid and I had more time to spend together. We would do her errands together one day, and then do my errands together the next day. We exercised together, did Bible study together, and went to school functions and our children’s special events together. I loved being with her. Little by little, I began to open up to her about my life — the good and the bad.
Ingrid listened to me with such patience and gentleness. She listened to me talk about the abuse, and I must have sounded like a broken record, but she listened to me every time like it was the first time she had ever heard me. When Nate would apologize and promise that things would be better, I would tell Ingrid he had turned a corner, and she listened. Then, when things would get bad again and the abuse would start over, she listened and never judged me. She validated who I was and promised to stand with me and do whatever it took. I made her promise to never say anything to her husband, and she swore she never would.
Ingrid and I talked every day, but I didn’t always tell her when things were bad. Sometimes it was just good to get up, get out of the house, and have someone to be with who loved me and treated me well. I didn’t want to spoil things all the time by complaining about life with Nate. Ingrid always allowed me to be myself. I could not imagine my life without her in it. Ingrid was just like family.
In the fall of 1994, Nate got into trouble with the law. He’d been in a car accident while under the influence of alcohol. After pleading guilty to reckless conduct, he received a six-month probation sentence. Once again, this brought negative press attention and a public trial, but I stood by him, supporting him and offering encouragement. This touched Nate. He knew I was sincere in my support, and he really did try to adjust his behavior and become a better husband through the ordeal. He spent more and more time at home, and things were calm between us. Nate even agreed to see a counselor with me.
We began asking around, and someone from the Cowboys recommended a counselor. It turned out to be a complete waste of time — the man seemed bored in the session, and I swore there were times he actually dozed off. We went to two sessions and then quit. Things were pretty good between us again, so it didn’t seem like we even needed a counselor. Plus, Nate was more open to church now, though he had still not given his life to Christ. But he sometimes spoke with ministers and seemed to be making positive changes in his behavior. I was happy that things were calm and that he seemed to be making progress, but I remained uneasy. I couldn’t relax. I had given up hope that things would ever really be permanently good. I was always waiting for something bad to happen.
It was difficult for me to trust people. When someone reached out to me for friendship, it seemed they were more intrigued by Nate’s public persona. I would visit with someone and go to lunch, but the conversation always turned to football. It was like this even at church. People constantly brought me photos and other items and asked me to take them home for Nate or other Cowboys players to sign. I still went to services, but I started to sneak in after the service started and slipped out just before it ended. I continued to attend regularly, but I felt disconnected — like a spectator. I was hurt
that people’s interest in me was all about Nate, so I began to withdraw.
Once, during a time when things were bad, I went to a minister and told him I was in danger. He immediately began making excuses for Nate, telling me that most of what I was experiencing was probably a result of the unique issues a celebrity has to deal with. Without missing a breath, he then turned the conversation back to football. He seemed very pleased with himself. I didn’t even need to be in the room; he carried on the whole conversation by himself. I sat there listening, wondering if he had any idea how much courage it took for me to even think about coming to him with my problems.
Meanwhile, Nate continued to make forward progress. He had always loved to read. He read almost every night before he went to bed, and he began to read more often from the Bible. I was very encouraged by this. He began spending time with the Dallas Cowboys chaplain as well. Nate would come home excited after talking with him and share the highlights of their conversations with me. He didn’t go into great detail about his personal relationship with God, but his actions spoke louder than his words ever could have.
Nate was changing. He was living a life that was pleasing to God, and he was better toward me. It had been a long time since there had been any physical abuse, and Nate began talking about wanting another child, reminding me that I had always said I wanted two. I was not ready for this. Too many times, I had been up and down on the Nate Newton roller coaster, and I was still holding my breath for the next frightening drop. I couldn’t even think about complicating things by bringing another baby into the picture.
Nate’s behavior was steadily improving, but he still had occasional relapses. He was charged with a misdemeanor assault, accused of fondling a woman in a bar. He was found not guilty, and the matter was dropped. There were no repercussions from this at home, and the rest of 1995 came and went without incident. The Cowboys had won another Super Bowl, and Nate had gone to the Pro Bowl again. Throughout that year, Nate had been gentle with me. He was more responsive to Tré and seemed to be consistently working to improve himself and become a better man.
We spent time together in prayer and fellowship with some church leaders from Tré’s school. Nate asked me to forgive him for his rocky past and for how he had treated me. I struggled with fear and doubt, but I did forgive Nate. I opened up my heart and asked God to give me the strength to see Nate as he was meant to be, not as he had been. I wanted to give Nate a chance to truly change.
CHAPTER 20
A New Day
Though no one can go back and make a brand-new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand-new ending.
Carl Bard
It was now 1996, and Nate was better than ever. He came to me one day, held my hand, and apologized. He told me he knew he had done a lot of wrong things to me in the past — terrible things, unthinkable and inexcusable things. He told me I didn’t deserve to be treated that way — that I had never deserved to be treated that way. He brought up all the times I stood by him when I could have walked away and told me it meant a great deal to him.
“Dot, I’m sorry,” he said, holding my hands tightly and looking me right in the eyes. “I’m so sorry. I love you, and I have changed. I know I tell you all the time I’m not perfect, but this time, instead of telling you I’m not perfect, I’m telling you I want to be who God wants me to be. I want you to help me become that man. You have been through enough. Dot, I’m sorry. You have to believe me . . .”
I had forgiven him, and things had been good between us for some time, so something must have occurred inside for him to come to me with such a heartfelt plea for forgiveness. I believed him. I believed him with all my heart. I took a deep breath, wanting desperately for him to be free from who he was. I didn’t want to judge him by his past anymore. I didn’t want to be afraid that the old Nate would surface again and spoil the peace.
I was grasping his hands tightly too. “I forgive you, Nate,” I said, and I meant it. “I want you to be free. I want you to be a Christian — the man God wants you to be.”
We hugged each other tightly, and I cried tears of release. Hope stirred inside me — something I hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.
I called T. Hayes to see if he knew what had happened to bring about such an earnest conversation. He didn’t know what happened, but he confirmed that Nate was a changed man. He was communicating differently with everyone. He just wasn’t the same guy. I began thanking God every day for Nate. I couldn’t believe that things were finally good between us — permanently good.
One day, I asked Nate for a new wedding ring. I didn’t want any memory of how bad things had been. I wanted to forget it all and start fresh. Nate was very happy to do this, and he bought a beautiful, expensive ring. I cried tears of joy, letting all the bad memories of physical abuse, other women, alcohol, and bad times fade away.
In July, Nate came to me and said, “Dot, you always told me you wanted to have two children. I don’t blame you if you don’t ever want to have another child, but what do you think? What do you think about having another baby?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I knew he had been working this out in his mind before he ever came to me. Nate always had things figured out before he brought them up. Tré had always wanted a brother or sister. He prayed and asked God about having one all the time. I had been taking birth control pills since Tré was born, so he had seen me take them regularly and naturally asked me what they were for. I did my best to explain, but in Tré’s mind, I was taking “birth pills” so I could get pregnant and have a baby. Sometimes he would come in my room and ask me if I had taken my pill so he could get his baby brother.
Our marriage was strong. We spent time with other believers, and there hadn’t been any trouble with affairs or late nights or abuse in a long, long time. When Nate came to me and asked if I was ready to have another baby, I didn’t even question it. “Absolutely!” I told him. It seemed infinitely clear to me that this was the right thing to do.
I stopped taking birth control pills, which worried young Tré.
“Mommy,” he would say, his little brow furrowed with concern, “if you don’t take your pill, I’m not going to have a brother or sister. You’ve got to take your pill!”
Before long, I conceived, and when I shared the happy news, we all celebrated. We were excited about the prospect of a new baby. Nate was ecstatic. He immediately was on the radio telling everybody, “My wife is pregnant!”
During my first trimester, I was nauseous and tired every day. It took a great deal of energy to keep up with Tré, but no matter how I felt, I still made sure that everything Nate needed was taken care of. I couldn’t wait each night until I was finally able to crawl into bed and pray for a little sleep.
When I was three months pregnant, I started getting phone calls from a girl who said she was having an affair with Nate. I didn’t want to believe it. At first I just hung up on her, thinking she was making crank calls or maybe wanting money out of Nate. She continued to call, only now she was giving me details — intimate details. I listened in horror, realizing she must be in a relationship with Nate, and here I was, pregnant and ill.
When I confronted Nate, he blew up. He shoved me against the wall and grabbed my throat with both hands, squeezing until I was gasping for air. He cursed and shouted and threw things. It was a horrible nightmare. I couldn’t believe it! How could this be happening again? I crumpled into a heap on the floor, sobbing. Every painful episode from the past rushed in like a flood, drowning my hope and reminding me I was a complete fool for ever trusting this man.
The calls from the woman continued, and Nate started staying out late and drinking. Whenever he was at home, he was sullen and irritable. I knew better than to say anything to him, but I was so disgusted, tired, and angry that sometimes I would blurt out something stupid like, “Who is she, Nathaniel?” — and this would provoke a night of violent anger.
When I was five months pregnant, Nate came stumbling in during the
wee hours of the morning, demanding that I get up and make him something to eat. I was exhausted, too tired to move out of bed. Nate shoved me hard, making sure I was awake and couldn’t ignore him. I had to get up early to get Tré ready for school and make the hour-long drive, and I didn’t want to get out of bed. I sat up and told Nate I was too tired. He pushed me off the bed and onto the floor.
“Make me somethin’ to eat!” he shouted. I was too tired to argue back. I got up in silence and went to the kitchen.
A few nights later, he came in late again and demanded that I fix a meal. This time I didn’t answer and didn’t open my eyes. I just lay there, clutching the covers, refusing to acknowledge him. This just frustrated him even more. I squeezed my eyes shut and started to pray out loud, which made him very angry. It was a bad night.
This pattern continued. Some nights, I would get up and cook just to keep the peace. Other nights, I was too irritable and started yelling back. In fact, I was beginning to yell at Nate all the time. I could barely stand the sight of him. I was furious that he waited until I was pregnant to have a relapse. And I was angry with myself for trusting him again. The abuse was back in full swing, and there were nights I thought I would literally die.
I was constantly worried about Tré and who would take care of him if I died. I didn’t want to leave him alone with Nate. I talked with Ingrid about it, and she swore she would make sure Tré was taken care of if anything ever happened to me.
Silent Cry Page 12