Silent Cry

by Dorothy J. Newton

  “Nate!” I screamed.

  “You won’t call the police; I’ll kill you first,” he said and rushed out the door, jumped in his vehicle, and sped off.

  I don’t know how long I knelt on the floor, but I suddenly panicked, wondering where Tré was. Did Nate take Tré?

  I went outside and Tré was not in the car. Where was he? I ran back in the house. Did he see anything?

  “Tré, come here!” I shouted.

  Tré came running toward me, and I scooped him up and held him tightly. There was a gaping hole where the window should have been and glass was shattered all over the place. We got in the car and drove away.

  I called T. Hayes and told him what had happened.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, concern thick in his voice.

  “I’m fine,” I said, convincing no one.

  “Don’t stay there right now,” he said. “Why don’t you come here for a while?”

  Dutifully, I obeyed. I didn’t have the energy to make any decisions on my own. His wife, Lisa, was also expecting a baby, and I knew if I went there, I would be safe. Sooner or later, I knew Nate would call T. Hayes — he always did.

  Tré was quiet in the car beside me. I didn’t think he’d seen anything, but he must have heard the shot. He didn’t say a word, and I didn’t trust myself to speak to him about it.

  I called Randy, our builder, and said as nonchalantly as I could, “Randy, can you go over to the house and take care of something for me?”

  “Sure,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “There’s some shattered glass at the house” — I took a deep breath — “in the kitchen . . .” My voice broke.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I managed to croak out. “Thanks, Randy.” I hung up and drove to T. Hayes’s house. The next day, Randy called. “Are you okay, Dorothy?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “I found shotgun shells on the floor,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said again. “Are you at my house now?”

  “Yes, I’m just finishing up. I’ve taken care of everything good as new.”

  “Is Nate there?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am, he isn’t,” Randy replied. “Do you need something?”

  “No . . . no, I’m just fine, Randy,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

  I didn’t want to go back to the house until T. Hayes had heard from Nate. He would know when it was safe.

  I took Tré to school the next day and called T. Hayes before driving back to the house. The window was fixed like nothing had ever happened. There were two shotgun shells sitting on the counter. Randy had set the table back on its feet, and the only visible evidence of the trauma was a chip in the granite floor where the table had fallen and another chip in the beveled tabletop edge that had struck the floor.

  An uneasiness was in the air, thick and foreboding. I thanked God I was alive, and I asked for his guidance. I knew I couldn’t stay with Nate anymore. From T. Hayes, I gathered that Nate had cleared out, so I knew I had a little time to think and figure things out.

  I looked around my house — our house. We had known happiness here. It hadn’t been too long ago that things were good between us. I thought about Nate’s excitement when I announced my pregnancy, and the tears came pouring out — silent tears that no one but God saw or heard.

  CHAPTER 22

  Humiliation

  I see grace groweth best in the winter.

  Samuel Rutherford

  It was three weeks before I saw Nate again. He turned up to tell me he was going to Florida to train with a bicyclist to get in shape before training camp began. I didn’t care. I was glad he would be gone so I could figure out what to do. I didn’t have any money of my own and didn’t have access to any of Nate’s money — I didn’t even know how much he had.

  When I found out he was seeing another woman in Florida, the news didn’t shock me. The woman who had been calling me to tell me about her affair with Nate started calling again, but now she was different; she was angry with Nate. I don’t know why I did it, but I contacted Nate in Florida and told him, “I think you’re about to have legal problems with this girl.” A week later, Nate came home and apologized to me for his behavior. He wanted to work things out between us.

  “No,” I told him, emotionless, “I really just want you out of my life. The sooner you go to training camp, the better; that way I don’t have to see you.”

  Nate apologized again. “We can work this out . . .” he began.

  “No, Nathaniel, we can’t,” I said. “I’m leaving you. I don’t care if you kill me. I have it worked out so Tré will be taken care of. I am prepared to die. If you hurt me again, I will go to the authorities and get help. I’ve already spoken with an attorney, and you are going to be served with divorce papers. You can take whatever you want. I don’t want anything from you; I just want out. You can kill me if you want to, but I have already told the attorney that you plan to do that, so go right ahead; the police will know it was premeditated.”

  Nate was enraged. He pushed me up against the wall and struck me. I crumpled to the floor to protect my stomach, and Nate kicked me.

  “I’m having to deal with enough right now, b______!” he shouted. “I can’t be bothered with you too, do you hear me? This girl is trying to threaten me. I need you now, Dot. Just when I need you, you think you’re gonna leave? You’re not gonna be there? You gonna walk away from me like everybody else?”

  I packed some things for Tré and left. I headed to Louisiana. Nate didn’t try to stop me. Obviously, I hadn’t called the police or the media, so I guess he figured I wouldn’t say anything to my family either. He was used to me keeping my mouth shut and remaining the dutiful wife. I always came back.

  I contemplated telling my family. While I was driving to see them, I rehearsed my story. When I actually got there, I couldn’t go through with it. I don’t know why; I just couldn’t do it. Everyone kept asking about Nate and wondering how he was doing — they all loved him. Why wouldn’t they? He had always been so nice to them. They had no idea he was a different person behind closed doors. I couldn’t seem to make myself tell them I was in trouble, even though I desperately wanted their help.

  While there, Tré became ill. He got so sick that I had to take him to a hospital in New Orleans. We were there all day, and when he was discharged, I took him to my mother’s place in Buras, sixty miles away. Nate called, and I told him about Tré. He told me the woman was filing a lawsuit against him, accusing him of rape. He begged me to come home, telling me how much he needed me. He promised me that if I would come home and see him through the trial, he would give me a divorce.

  I wanted that divorce. I was paying an attorney $250 per hour, and I didn’t know where I was going to find the money if Nate contested. Holding out the divorce was the right bait for me. I wanted it, and if Nate was willing to set me free, then I would go home and deal with whatever I had to in order to buy my freedom.

  The woman accused Nate of sexual assault, and it made the national news. I was humiliated. I went back home, and Nate disappeared to escape the media frenzy. I don’t know where he went, but he wasn’t around, and I didn’t care. I was growing closer to term, and my focus was on taking care of Tré and the baby.

  I hardly heard from Nate during the last few weeks of my pregnancy. I was so sick that it seemed like all of my energy was expended going back and forth to the doctor. I was scheduled to be induced on July 15. Nate called the weekend before and asked about when I thought I might go into labor. I had no idea whether or not he would show up — it didn’t matter to me. I wanted Ingrid to be with me in the delivery room. She was a steady, constant, and loving force in my life, and I wanted her by my side. When I was with her, my heart was lighter and my troubles melted away, and I felt strong and free. I wanted my mother too. I needed her support. I arranged for her to come to stay with me so she and
Ingrid could be in the delivery room and be around to help out with Tré.

  I went to the hospital for my appointment, and Nate showed up. I was so disappointed. Why had he come? I couldn’t deny his rights as the father, so he came into the delivery room with me, and Ingrid and my mom waited outside. The delivery room is still a blur to me, but when it was all over, I had a healthy baby boy weighing in at ten pounds, two and a half ounces. The same feelings of awe, wonder, and unconditional love washed over me, just as they had when Tré was born. When I held my little boy, everything else receded. Nothing else was as important as taking care of this little one and loving him with all my heart.

  I still didn’t have a name for him, and I had promised Tré he could name the baby, since he had prayed for one with such unwavering faith. When Tré saw his brother in the hospital nursery, without even thinking he said, “I know what we can name him.”

  “What?” I asked, chuckling at his enthusiasm.

  “We can name him King ’cause he looks like he’s the king of the nursery!”

  “King it is!” I said, laughing. I had no qualms with the name King because the greatest king I knew was the King of kings — Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God. Tré’s excitement could not be contained. He was overjoyed to have a brother of his very own. He was so proud that his brother was bigger than all the other babies. He couldn’t wait to hold him and wanted to know when we could take him home. Tré named him King, but Nate also wanted the baby to have his name, so we settled on Nate King Newton for this special baby boy. I celebrated his arrival with true joy. Baby King was a gift from God — this was undeniable.

  I was released from the hospital and went home. Nate went off to training camp, so there was peace while I recovered from the delivery. When King was just six weeks old, Nate came home from training camp for a court appearance regarding the accusation of sexual assault. I received a subpoena to appear as a witness. Because I had received so many calls from this woman in which she gave details about their trips together and how he took care of her and her child, my testimony was needed to prove they were in a consensual relationship. The woman had been harassing me with phone calls from the time I was three months pregnant with King. I was humiliated and upset that I had to leave King and go to the courthouse to testify on Nate’s behalf.

  I arrived at the scheduled time and stood outside the courtroom, waiting for my turn to go in. Nate stood outside with his attorney, but neither of them engaged me in any conversation. Never once had I been given any details about the trial or about Nate’s part in the relationship with the woman. I never asked about anything, and Nate never volunteered anything. I felt hollow inside — no emotion, just numb. I didn’t really care what happened to Nate. I didn’t believe he had raped the woman, but I honestly could not manage to find any warm or concerned feelings for him. I was filled with disgust, and I wanted nothing to do with him.

  I was called not into the courtroom but into a private room with the jury. I was told to tell exactly what it was I had been experiencing with the plaintiff, and I gave all the information as it had happened. I also told the people in the room that Nate and I were experiencing serious marital problems, but I believed God would fight that battle for me. I told them it was important for me to be able to separate those things and focus on the facts at hand. I asked them to concentrate on the facts relevant to the case and not on Nate’s status as a cheating husband. I told them I did not believe this was a case of rape but that this relationship had been consensual. I told them I was upset — very upset — but the truth is what it is: I did not believe Nate had raped this woman.

  When I came out of the room, I was completely convinced Nate would not be convicted.

  “What happened in there?” Nate asked.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll be free as usual.”

  Nate and his attorney finally had a conversation with me, a detailed conversation that made me sick to my stomach. I was shocked when I learned the details of what had really happened. I shouldn’t have been shocked after everything I had been through with Nate, but I was shocked nevertheless. In fact, I was speechless. I stared at Nate like he was a total stranger. I wanted him to stay away from me forever. I wanted to leave that courthouse and have it all be over.

  I drove to Ingrid’s house to pick up six-week-old King. She asked me to come inside, and I sat down in a chair, wanting to cry, but I couldn’t. My tears had dried up. I had no feelings whatsoever. Inside, I was crumbling, but on the outside, my tears wouldn’t flow.

  Ingrid and her mother were in the room with me, but I was unable to speak. I couldn’t tell them anything. They didn’t know what to say to me, and I couldn’t find any words to say to them. I just kept thinking to myself, I can’t believe my baby is six weeks old — Nate’s baby — and I’m in the courthouse to defend him over sleeping with another woman. I can’t believe it.

  Just as I predicted, Nate was not convicted. We’ve been through so much in the last six months, I thought to myself. Surely nothing else will happen. Things were calm. Nate kept his distance from me, I suppose with the idea that he’d give me time to get over the fact that I had to testify on his behalf against his lover. I used the calmness to approach Nate.

  “I think it’s best if we just go our separate ways,” I said. “I need to be free of this marriage — it isn’t really much of a marriage anyway. I’ll take care of the boys. If you’ll just help me out with three months’ rent, I’ll be able to get a job by then and won’t need anything else from you. You owe me that much, Nate,” I said.

  “Dot, just wait awhile. Just a little while. Can you just wait a little while? Everything is going to be better,” he replied.

  I let out a deep, heavy sigh. I knew he wasn’t going to give me a divorce. I knew he wasn’t going to give me money for rent or child care. How can I find a job and move away from him without some help? I thought. I felt totally trapped and completely powerless to change my situation.

  From that day on, I prayed more than ever before. I asked God to help me change things in my life. I trusted no one. I had lived my entire life afraid. I had placed Nate’s needs, Nate’s career, Nate’s wants, ahead of everything else. Something inside of me was so twisted and broken that I thought more about Nate than about my own safety. I felt like I had done something to deserve the abuse — like I had to pay for my past sins. I was too afraid to go to the police. I knew if I did, Nate would worm his way out of any trouble, like he always did. The rules were different for him. He was a celebrity. I thought about all the trouble he had caused and how he always seemed to escape suffering any real consequences from his actions. Every time — not guilty, not convicted. I felt like every effort on my part was completely futile.

  I lived a lie, a double life. I played my role as a devoted, faithful wife so well in public that no one ever suspected a thing. No one knew I was miserable, broken, and bruised, crying out for deliverance and desperate to escape. Ingrid and T. Hayes had some idea, but even what they knew was limited and filtered. To my friends and the world around me, I lived a dream life. I was married to a celebrity, a professional athlete. Nate was the life of the party, showering everyone with gifts, giving them what they wanted, and treating them well. We had a nice home. We had nice cars. People assumed I had a lot of money. I knew it wouldn’t make sense to any of my friends if I went to them to ask for financial help. I thought of going to Ingrid, and I know she would gladly have helped, but how could she give me money without telling Monte what it was for? I didn’t want him to know. You’re on your own, I said to myself. Just you and God.

  Why didn’t I tell my family? Surely if I had made my situation known, they would have intervened. I was too frightened to take the chance. Nate had threatened to kill me if I told anyone his business, and the image of him pointing that gun at my head was as fresh in my memory as the day it happened.

  Growing up, I promised myself I would never get in the same situation my mother was in — unable
to escape because she was financially dependent on my abusive stepfather. Here I was, repeating history. I took the bad with the good and prayed for a way out.

  CHAPTER 23

  My Shield

  God is my defender. My God loves me, and he goes in front of me.

  Psalm 59:9 – 10 NCV

  Ilived my life going through the motions. The cycle of abuse (verbal, physical, sexual) rotated with cycles of calm — Nate keeping his distance, Nate promising to change, Nate going through some self-inflicted trauma. I found a way to separate myself into two people. I was one way with Nate. Whatever he asked or demanded from me, I found some way to comply. Sometimes I yelled back and said horrible things; sometimes I struggled against him; and sometimes I just gave in like a wounded dog, but I did what I had to do to survive.

  The other me lived a totally different life. When I left the house, I tucked away that abused, weary, broken Dorothy and put on the strong, tender, kindhearted Dorothy who cared deeply about other people’s pain and reached out in any way I could. When I spent time with Ingrid, I was a different person. When I spent time with people, I was a different person. When I spent time alone with God, he strengthened me and filled me and taught me things about my own character and my own faults. He spoke to me about my hatred and the bondage I was in.

  “Lord,” I prayed, “please keep me safe from all danger and harm. Help me to have a better attitude and plenty of gratitude. Clear my mind so I can truly hear from you. Broaden my mind so I can accept what you are saying to me. Help me not to whine about the things I have no control over. Renew my mind so I won’t feel guilty about all the bad choices I’ve made that led me here. I know that even when I cannot pray, you listen to my heart, so remove the hatred that is lurking there. Please cleanse me from it.”

  I kept praying. “My struggles, trials, and tribulations are beyond belief right now, and only you really know what they are. God, help me through them so I can be a blessing to others someday. Keep me strong so I will not give up, Lord. Keep me uplifted so I may have words of encouragement for others, even during this time.”