Tré was old enough to understand what was going on now. It broke my heart that he could hear us fighting. It scared me that he saw Nate shove me or choke me. I felt like a complete failure and just wanted to escape this horrible situation.
One night, I told Nate I was leaving him. I just couldn’t live through this again. Whatever change he had made was totally erased, and I didn’t have the strength to live with him anymore. This made him furious. He told me if I tried to leave him, he would kill me. The look in his eyes was so severe. The hatred and disdain were palpable. I believed him. I believed he would kill me if I tried to go. I was frightened. It felt like ice water was running through my veins.
I was desperate now. I cried out to God and prayed for protection and strength. I prayed for a way of escape. I asked God to protect Tré and help him to forget the horrible things he’d heard and seen. I meditated on Scripture as if my life depended on it. My prayers from Psalm 23 went something like this:
“The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
God, I do want. I want to be free. I want to be safe. I am your child. You promised to protect me.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.”
Yes, Lord. Please take me to green pastures. Please bring me to still, peaceful waters.
“He restoreth my soul.”
My soul is weary, God. My spirit is alive and filled with you, but my flesh is totally spent, and my soul cries out in despair. Deliver me, God. Restore my soul.
“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
God, I need you to show me the path. I know there is a path of righteousness for me even in this situation. Lead me there. I’ll go.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”
But I am afraid. I am so afraid of this evil. I feel as though I am right in the center of death’s dark, shadowed valley. How do I walk through it?
“For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
Yes. You are with me. When Nate hits me, he’s hitting you. You are with me every moment, with every breath. You see it all. You hear it all. You care for me. You comfort me. You must have a plan for me.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.”
Is Nate my enemy, Lord? Or is Nate tormented and controlled by my real enemy? Your table is my provision, even when I am in captivity and surrounded by betrayal, lies, deceit, violence, anger, and abuse. Your table is my protection, keeping me safe, keeping me alive so I can care for Tré and protect my unborn child.
“Thou anointest my head with oil.”
God, I need your healing. My mind needs to be healed. It is broken and bruised and weary and sad. Please let your oil of gladness flow over me. Let your healing balm flow. Anoint my head, Lord Jesus; anoint my head.
“My cup runneth over.”
Yes, you have given me much to be thankful for. My cup runneth over with love for Tré and the baby who is not yet even born. My cup runneth over with the goodness of friends who care for me. My cup runneth over with your love. God, I love you. God, how I need you.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”
Your goodness overwhelms me. Your mercy is never-ending. Help me to understand. Help me to see, Lord. Let me feel your goodness and mercy, and grant many days to my life.
“And I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”
Yes, Lord. I will dwell with you forever and ever. I will never leave you. I will never forsake you. I will always call on your name. You are my hiding place. You are my shield and my deliverer. You are my song. You are my strong tower. You are my refuge.
I meditated on this passage daily and took strength from its words. I poured out my heart to God and gave him all my sorrow and grief, doubt and fear. I fellowshipped with God in my suffering, and I found comfort in his presence and in his care.
I never once blamed God for what I was going through. I never once felt like he wasn’t protecting me. I felt like I had placed myself in this situation. Over and over again, I had made bad choices, and the consequences were pain, suffering, and abuse.
Each day, I asked for God’s protection over my life, over Tré, and over our baby. My energy was totally spent. I knew if my situation was going to change, it would absolutely take God’s intervention.
CHAPTER 21
The Last Straw
It is devastating to be abused by someone that you love and think loves you in return.
U.S. Senator Dianne Feinstein
Nate had not come home for several nights. He was not at home as I stood over Tré’s bed and watched him sleep. He was so peaceful, lying there with his little hands cupped under his cheek. Such a handsome boy, I thought to myself. Love for him welled up inside of me, and I reached down to stroke his head. Just then, the baby kicked me, as if he was jealous of the attention I was giving his brother. I patted my stomach and admonished him, “Stop that, now. I love you too, little one. Don’t you ever think Mama doesn’t love you with all her heart.”
Tré rolled over, and his brow furrowed. A moment before, he had been totally peaceful, but now his face looked troubled, and he was restless, as if he was having a bad dream. I knelt down beside him, remembering how many bad dreams I had known in my childhood. I knew what it was like to be afraid for your mother. I knew what it was like to wish your daddy would stop yelling, stop hurting her . . .
I ached inside. I never wanted my children to know the fear I felt as a child. I never wanted their dreams to become nightmares. I crawled into Tré’s bed and held him close, tears streaming down my face.
“God,” I prayed, “watch over my children and protect them from harm. Let them learn to love you with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength. Show me a way of escape. Keep me from the bondage of unforgiveness. I belong to you, Lord. Nate belongs to you. This isn’t right. This isn’t your plan for us. Guide me now. I don’t know what to do. I need you . . .”
I lay there, praying off and on throughout the night, stroking my stomach with one hand and cuddling Tré with the other. Remarkably, the night passed in peace. There was no argument with Nate, no demands — just God’s peace, a respite from the storm. I didn’t know how, but I knew God was going to take care of us. I knew this suffering would not last forever.
I was concerned for Tré. I knew all too well what he was going through. I knew the deep fear and anxiety that came from watching someone you love be battered and abused. No child should have to feel like they are on guard, waiting for something bad to happen, never knowing what will trigger the abuse, never quite feeling safe. I wanted him to know that prayer had the power to change things. I wanted him to know that kneeling at the feet of Jesus would always give him the strength and power to do whatever needed to be done.
On our long commute to school each morning, I prayed with Tré. I talked to him and tried to give him a safe place to vent what he was feeling. He was free to talk about anything and everything. I was strong for him. I did my best to explain things and share how God protected me and watched over us. I sometimes felt guilty that I had put him in a position to experience this pain, but I was so proud of how he handled things and how open he remained with me. We developed clear communication, and a lasting trust was established. During this season, our relationship grew strong and deep.
I was still working for Nate, arranging appearances and doing other things. As his popularity increased, I needed to work more closely with Valerie, his publicist. She was a nice, sweet Christian lady, and I enjoyed working with her. We talked often about coordinating Nate’s calendar and keeping the schedule straight. In a moment when I was vulnerable, I confided in her that things were bad at home. She was kind and understanding and tried to reassure me that it didn’t have to be that way. She thought it might help if she mentioned it to someone inside the Cowboys organization. She was sure
they would intervene and make sure Nate got the help he needed and that I would be protected. Suddenly, I was frightened that I had told her. What if it got back to Nate? I told her she could tell no one. She might think it was going to help me, but it would only make things worse. Oh, how I regretted telling her. I hadn’t intended to; it just sort of came out. I wasn’t myself these days — tired, bruised, swollen — and being pregnant didn’t help.
It had been a bad night. Nate had come home very late, and the abuse was worse than usual. I dropped Tré off at school and sat in my car for a moment, wondering about what to do next. When Nate first woke up, he was not usually violent. In fact, even if we had been through a bad night, he often didn’t seem to remember what had happened. I was never quite sure what to expect. I was exhausted beyond belief, and my body was sore all over — like one giant bruise, so I put the car in gear and headed for home. Nate was still sleeping, so I went into Tré’s room to lie down. I set an alarm just in case I fell asleep, wanting to be sure I had enough time to shower and dress before I left again to pick up Tré from school.
I felt better when I woke up, and the sun was shining as I pulled out of the driveway and headed for Fort Worth Christian. Why do I put up with this? I asked myself. Why don’t I just leave him? It isn’t my fault that Nate beats me. It isn’t my fault that he sleeps with other women. I don’t deserve this. Tré doesn’t deserve this. I can’t bring another baby into this horrible situation. I can’t!
Just then my cell phone rang, and it startled me. It was Nate. I stared at it, frightened that Nate knew what I was thinking. I swallowed hard and answered.
“Where you at?” Nate asked.
“I’m on my way to pick up Tré,” I replied. He was silent.
“Nate,” I said, “why are you treating me this way? Why are you doing all this?”
I felt as if something had uncorked inside of me. “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do this anymore. I’m leaving you. Don’t worry; I’m not gonna run to the media or anything. I won’t tell a soul what has happened, but I have to go. I just have to go.” Silence.
“Nate,” I said firmly, though my whole body was shaking, “I want a divorce.”
Nate was furious and started shouting. I couldn’t believe I had told him what I was thinking. It’s a good thing the route was so familiar, because I know I wasn’t paying attention to the road — it was like the car was driving itself.
Nate ranted for a few minutes and then told me we would talk when I got home — and I had better come home. Then he asked, “Who did you go tellin’ my business to?”
I froze. Oh, God, I thought, did Valerie . . .?
“Don’t make me come and find you,” Nate snarled. “If I have to come find you, I’ll kill you.” He hung up.
I picked up Tré and thought about just driving away, but I was too afraid. I knew Nate would never lay a hand on Tré — at least I didn’t think he would — but I was certain I was in for a very rough night. I knew if I didn’t go home, he would find me.
I called Valerie. “Did you tell anybody?” I asked. “Who did you tell?”
Valerie was stunned and very upset. She felt like someone needed to reach out and help me. She meant to help. She didn’t realize how desperate my situation was.
Without thinking, I drove to Ingrid’s house. She would know what to do. I arrived a total mess. We sent the boys to another room to play, and I wrote a letter stating that if I turned up dead, it was because Nate had killed me. I made her promise not to read it, but if anything happened to me, she had to take it to the police. She promised, and I watched her put the letter in her safe. I was scared I was going to die, and I was even more afraid of what would happen to Tré if I did.
“Ingrid,” I said, “you must promise me that if anything ever happens to me, you will raise Tré. I don’t want him to grow up with Nate if I’m not there.”
I was worried that since Ingrid had never told Monte about my situation, he might not agree to take Tré from Nate. I knew how charming Nate was to everybody else, and I could see him telling Monte I had gone crazy or something, and I was sure Nate would get his way. Ingrid promised me she would raise Tré, and I asked her to put that commitment in writing, sign it, and give me a copy. Then I watched her as she put her copy in the safe. I let out a sigh of relief. Tré would be taken care of.
Ingrid didn’t cry, but her countenance betrayed her sadness. I knew she was scared for me. I sat in her home, thinking that if my family knew what I was going through, they would risk everything to protect me, but they didn’t know. I thought about my aunt in Virginia; I knew she would help me, but she didn’t know either. Sheila, Bug — many names came to mind, but no one knew I was in danger. I hadn’t told anyone, and now it was too late. Nate was going to kill me; I was sure of it.
“You promise me you will take Tré?” I asked Ingrid again.
“Yes, yes, of course I will,” Ingrid said, her eyes completely sincere and her face filled with concern.
“You should not go back there,” she said. “Stay here. Don’t go home.”
“I have to,” I said. “I have to go back. You don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand,” I repeated. “I have to reassure him that I haven’t gone to the police. He told me I have to bring Tré home. I have to go.”
I collected Tré and tried to prepare him as we drove home.
“Tré,” I said.
“Yes, Mama?”
“When we get home, I want you to stay in the car until I come back outside to get you, okay?”
“Why?” he asked.
“Listen, baby, I’m going to turn on some music for you. You just put your little headphones on and pretend like you’re driving the car. Can you do that? Your daddy is really upset about some things, and I don’t want you to come inside until he calms down.”
“Okay,” he said. It was like any other day to Tré. He was used to Daddy being angry and Mommy getting hurt. He had learned to hide and be quiet and wait until the storms blew over. It was sad.
We were almost home. An icy calm settled over me. I expected the worst. I didn’t even mind — except that I cared so much about Tré. If Nate killed me, I would be with Jesus and free from suffering. If only Tré — I couldn’t think about it or I would break down and cry. I felt the baby kick, and I was sorry I would never get to hold him in my arms.
I put the car in park and took the keys out of the ignition. I got out Tré’s music and his headphones and told him to wait for me in the car — he was not to come inside. I looked at him, hugged him hard, and kissed the top of his head.
Slowly I walked through the front door, not knowing what to expect. Would he beat me? Would he shoot me? I didn’t even think we had a gun in the house, but there was one in the guesthouse. I walked into the kitchen, shaking. I didn’t know what to expect this time, but I knew this was different from anything I’d been through before. Nate was there waiting.
“What the f____ are you doing?” he shouted.
“What do you mean?” I answered.
“You know what I mean. If you ever tell anyone my business ever again, I’ll kill you.”
I sat down at the dining room table, preparing for a rant. “I’m tired of this, Nate. I want to be free from you. Can’t you just let me be free from you? Free to go on?”
“The only freedom you’re ever gonna get is if I kill you!” he said. Then I saw the gun lying on the counter. It was the rifle he used to shoot snakes when he was out with the dogs. I stared at the gun. Nate followed my gaze, and his lips curled into a snarl. He wanted me to be afraid.
He started shouting again and moved toward the table. The tabletop was made from heavy, beveled glass. I was sitting at the end of it in front of the large picture window in the dining room. Nate grabbed the edge of the table and shoved it toward me. Pure instinct made me scoot back in the chair as fast as I could, fearing the table would plunge into my abdomen and hurt the baby. The table just grazed my stomach as I
scrambled out of the way. It came crashing to the floor, somehow not shattering but breaking the granite tile as it struck with a heavy thud.
I stared at the table in disbelief. He could have hurt the baby. Explosive anger welled up inside of me. Adrenaline rushed through my body, and hot, angry words came to the surface.
“You’re sick!” I shouted at him, looking at the mess on the floor. “You are sick, Nathaniel Newton! What is wrong with you?”
Nate glared at me and started walking toward the counter, toward the gun.
“Enough is enough,” I screamed. “I’m going to the police. We have a child together, Nathaniel. We have another child on the way. Do you want to hurt the baby? What do you think you’re doing? I’m going to the authorities — do you hear me? I’m calling the police!”
I was still sitting in the dining room chair where I had scooted to avoid being hit by the table when, quick as a flash, Nate had the gun in his hands and pointed it straight at me. I froze.
“What are you doing?” I asked, shaking.
“I’m going to kill you, that’s what,” Nate said, leveling the gun right between my eyes.
I held my breath, waiting for him to pull the trigger. Oh, God, I prayed silently, don’t let Tré find me here like this.
Nate kept the gun pointed at my face. I don’t know how long he stood there, but neither one of us said a word. I was shaking all over, tears streaming down my face. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and I felt like I was going to faint. I wanted to run, but my feet were glued to the floor — I couldn’t move.
Nate kept the barrel pointed steady between my eyes, then he moved the barrel a few inches to the right and pulled the trigger, smashing a bullet through the window behind me, shattering it into a million pieces.
I screamed and fell to the floor, grabbing my ears.
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