When my mother became pregnant with her fifth child, all the relatives tried to dissuade her. But she never went through with an abortion. That’s how I came into the world…
When I turned three, my father left us for another woman. Mom started spending long hours at work, and my older brothers and sisters had no time for me. When my eldest brother returned from the army, he began drinking heavily, constantly causing trouble. He could smash our window in the middle of the night because we didn’t open the door out of fear. Once, he nearly choked my sister right in front of me.
I woke up in fear, fell asleep in fear, lived in fear. I even had thoughts of killing my brother while he slept so no one would suffer because of him anymore.
This went on until I was 11.
One wonderful day, my aunt arrived, and seeing my condition, she took me to live with her in the city. A new life began. From a timid, frightened child, I gradually transformed into an attractive, confident young woman.
When I turned 16, I met a guy named Ethan. He was a year older than me. Because of my troubled childhood, I judged all guys by my brother and instinctively chose someone completely unlike him. Ethan was exactly what I was looking for. He was kind, sweet, didn’t drink, and at 17, he worked part-time to help his mother. They lived alone together. He had a brother, but he lived far away with his own family. Their father had died when Ethan was young.
We dated for six months. My aunt knew about our relationship and constantly reminded me to “keep my head on my shoulders,” meaning I shouldn’t sleep with him. I had no intention of doing so. After six months, we started spending more time alone. Ethan knew I was a virgin and didn’t push for anything serious. We were both afraid of the responsibility. We were just kids.
I attended a school where every year we had a gynecologist check-up. My biggest fear was that if I slept with Ethan, the gynecologist would notice and tell my aunt, who would then send me back to the hell she had rescued me from.
One summer, my mom asked me to come help with some renovations. She was upset that I, her own daughter, hadn’t visited her in years. By then, all my older siblings had moved out. My brother had gotten married. He hadn’t stopped drinking, but he got a job and calmed down a bit. I decided to visit for just a week—a week that turned out to be fateful.
Our village was in the middle of nowhere, incredibly hard to reach. It was half-abandoned, with derelict houses everywhere and no streetlights whatsoever. The population consisted of pensioners and young people still in school. There were hardly any guys in the village, but plenty of girls. Guys from neighboring villages would drive through every evening like hunters, looking for a new “target.”
I must have been that target when some local girls, my former classmates, dragged me to a dance. I was wearing tight jeans and a light top. Among the locals, I felt like an outsider—literally pale. The village was on a riverbank, and in the summer, everyone had a deep tan. But I, a child of the city, had pale skin and light hair. Newcomers were a curiosity to them.
That evening, after leaving the club, we girls were joined by a few guys. We walked along a street that was eerily long and deserted for such a small village. Suddenly, all the girls paired off with the guys, as if it had been planned, leaving me with the boldest and most arrogant of them, claiming he’d walk me home. But to me, getting home felt like an eternity away.
He was much older than me and clearly had no intention of taking me straight home. I was terrified as we passed old ruins, with a forest behind us and no houses for dozens of yards. He started making suggestive comments, saying how sexy and beautiful I was. I didn’t like it. He was too quick to get so forward. When he tried to take my hand, I bolted toward the forest, hoping to hide in the bushes. Fear and childish naivety drove me. But he caught up to me almost instantly.
— Where are you running? I won’t hurt you. Don’t be scared! — he said.
I was crying, but he covered me with his jacket and walked me home, mostly in silence. I was furious with myself:
— Stupid girl, making things up, embarrassing yourself, — I thought. If he had bad intentions, he would’ve acted on them right away instead of comforting me and walking me home.
A few days later, the girls convinced me to hang out near the yard, assuring me we’d be alone. Foolishly, I believed them and went. We weren’t right by the house but about 300 yards away, where there was a convenient bench. Suddenly, a car pulled up, and that same guy was inside. (I hadn’t told anyone about the earlier incident.) The girls, claiming they needed the bathroom, left me alone with him again. I tried to go with them, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the car.
— Get in, let’s go for a ride. Don’t be scared, I won’t touch you. I’ll show you my village, — he said.
Screaming was pointless. I realized the girls wouldn’t help me—they were too scared of him to get involved. In that desolate village, no one would hear me.
Before I could process it, we were already driving out of the village. Panic set in. I begged him to take me home, but he acted like he didn’t hear me. We drove to another village about three or four miles away, cruised around, and headed back. That’s when my worst fears came true. Halfway down a dirt road, he stopped the car. He climbed into the backseat with me. I started screaming. He threatened that if I resisted, he’d call his friends and hand me over to them. I knew there were a few cars full of “hungry” guys roaming the village. Picturing that, I fell silent. With bitterness and disgust, I endured his assault. Strangely, it didn’t hurt at all the first time. Then I understood why he hadn’t done it the last time—he was afraid someone might see. Here, in the open steppe, there was no risk.
When the nightmare was over, he drove me home as if nothing had happened. My first instinct was to go to the police. But what police? The drunk local cop? Besides, when I got home, I saw my mom was asleep. I was too ashamed to wake her and tell her everything. I cried all night. The next morning, I decided to tell no one and just go back to my aunt.
Three weeks after returning to the city, I felt too ashamed to look Ethan in the eyes. I wanted to break up with him so he’d never find out. But one morning, I woke up with overwhelming nausea. The slightest smell made me gag. I bought a pregnancy test at the pharmacy, took it, and saw two lines in horror.
— What do I do now? I’m pregnant by a rapist, and I’m only 16. What will happen with Ethan? — These thoughts, combined with morning sickness, tormented me. I couldn’t tell anyone—not my mom, not my aunt. Tell everyone and be humiliated? There’d be investigations, trials. I didn’t want that life. I saw only one way out: sleep with Ethan and tell him he’s the father.
That evening, my aunt was on night duty. I invited Ethan over, saying I was scared to sleep alone and that we’d watch a movie. I picked one with erotic scenes, full of intimacy. It worked. I could see him getting tense, holding back. We started kissing, slowly undressing each other. At one point, he hesitated, unsure if he was doing the right thing, but I whispered that I wanted him.
Two weeks later, it was time to tell Ethan the shocking news that I was pregnant and he’d soon be a father.
— How? How could it happen so fast, the first time? — he asked, stunned.
— It happens. We should’ve used protection, — I blurted out.
— What do we do now? They’ll throw me in jail! — Ethan panicked.
— They won’t. Maybe we could get married? — I suggested.
— What about your studies? — he asked, clearly upset. His whole demeanor showed he wasn’t thrilled about the news.
I hadn’t expected this reaction. I thought he’d support me, not complain.
— What did you expect, you foolish, heartless girl? — I thought to myself.
— I’ll get an abortion, and it’ll all be over like a bad dream, — dark thoughts haunted me.
— Why do I need a baby at 16? I haven’t even lived for myself yet.
My aunt came home from work and found me in tears. I couldn’t hide it anymore—it would become obvious sooner or later.
— Is Ethan the father? — she asked, looking at me intently.
I nodded silently and looked away. The pain and disgust from my own lie made me want to disappear. I sobbed harder, and my aunt hugged me, saying:
— Sweetie, you can’t get so upset right now. Why are you crying? Does Ethan know?
I nodded again, choking on bitter tears.
— What do I do now, Aunt? — I asked, hoping for help. — Ethan wasn’t happy about the news.
— You’re going to have the baby! — she said with a smile.
By then, I was supposed to start 11th grade, but going to school was out of the question. My classmates wouldn’t understand, and I was too ashamed to face them. I barely went anywhere. My aunt and I went to the school and applied for remote learning. I was an excellent student, and the principal accommodated me.
The last time I spoke to Ethan was a week ago. He asked about my health and said he hadn’t told his mom yet, but he had to.
By the second and third months, I needed to register at the clinic. Their rules required reporting cases like mine to the police. Investigations began. What? When? Why? Ethan’s mother was furious. I knew her as a kind woman, though we’d only met a couple of times. I knew what she thought of me—that I’d gotten pregnant by someone else and was trying to trap her innocent son. After all, if a 16-year-old girl is pregnant, she must be irresponsible and reckless. She was partly right, but I hadn’t “messed around.” I was forced into this. I couldn’t tell them the truth.
The police investigated why I was living with my aunt instead of my mom. They threatened to strip my mom of her parental rights for neglecting me. But the medal she’d received for being a mother of many children helped her case.
None of my siblings came to support me during this difficult time. They were all busy with their own families and, as usual, had no time for me. I’d always been like an ugly duckling to them, and now even more so. In the end, Ethan’s mom, Mary, my aunt, and my mom decided Ethan and I should get married. There was no other option. He clearly didn’t want it but couldn’t disobey his mother. There was no wedding or celebration. We just filed the paperwork at the registry office with all the necessary documents, and our married life began.
I was shocked at how much Ethan and his mother had changed. He turned out to be a complete mama’s boy, and she revealed her true, venomous nature. She despised me, especially since I had to move in with them.
All the household chores fell on me. That might’ve been fine, but my pregnancy was extremely difficult. The morning sickness never stopped, my back ached terribly, my legs cramped, I couldn’t eat properly, and I was chronically exhausted. They seemed to notice none of it. My mother-in-law doused herself in perfume and demanded the house be spotless.
Ethan, tasting married life, became demanding in bed every night, forcing me to comply. From a sweet, kind boy, he turned into a cold, two-faced, quiet tormentor. I endured it all because I felt I was to blame for everything. If I’d had an abortion early on, none of this hell would’ve happened.
One day, something happened that could only haunt me in my worst nightmares. Ethan’s older brother, Victor, came to stay with them. He’d divorced his wife and had nowhere to live. He’d left her because of his alcoholism. It was like I was back in my childhood. Nightmares plagued me at night, and during the day, his constantly drunk face stared at me with a searing gaze.
I nearly fainted at the thought of being alone with Victor, as Ethan had just started a job. He’d finished school that year, wasn’t drafted into the army due to health issues, and since we couldn’t live on Mary’s salary alone, he found work at a factory. Victor, meanwhile, had no intention of working. He drowned his sorrows over his divorce in alcohol. Mary indulged him, pitying her son in her own way.
When they left for work, fear paralyzed me. I locked myself in my room to avoid seeing his drunken face. But I had to do all the chores—cook, clean—before Mary and Ethan returned. I waited until the noise and movement stopped, signaling Victor was asleep, then went about my tasks.
After some time living together, I relaxed a bit. Victor didn’t cause scenes like my brother. He drank and slept, drank and slept again. I started feeling more confident being alone with him and could do things even when he was awake. But then things took a turn for the worse. I started catching him staring at me—not just any stare, but a lustful one.
One day, I felt awful and decided to rest in the afternoon. I lay down and fell asleep. I woke up to someone groping my chest. Opening my eyes, I saw a drunk Victor. In horror, I tried to get out of bed, but he pushed me down and lunged at me. I screamed and fought back, but he was much stronger. In a flash, I remembered the assault that had ruined my life. I told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again, no matter the cost. I reached for a small statue on the nightstand and hit Victor over the head with all my strength, several times. He loosened his grip, and I managed to break free and stand. He quickly recovered from the blow, glaring at me with rage, as if ready to kill me. I ran but tripped over the threshold and fell. At that moment, I felt excruciating pain in my lower abdomen. I closed my eyes and passed out.
When I opened my eyes in the hospital, I saw my mom and aunt. They sat, anxiously watching me. I noticed my noticeably rounded belly was gone. I wanted to speak but couldn’t utter a word—I was too weak. The doctor came in, smiled at me, and said:
— You’re awake! We managed to save the baby. Congratulations, it’s a girl!
Apparently, the fall had caused my water to break, and they performed an emergency C-section at seven months. Thankfully, Victor had the sense to call an ambulance. Otherwise, my daughter and I wouldn’t be here.
I named her Faith, and she was in a special incubator to maintain her temperature. At first, they didn’t let me see her due to the high risk of infection. She was fed through special devices with amino acid and glucose solutions. Her weight was just 3 pounds, 12 ounces. But the doctors said Faith was a strong baby and gaining weight quickly. I waited eagerly for that.
It felt strange to experience maternal feelings—unfamiliar but deeply pleasant. Ethan, on the other hand, seemed to feel no fatherly emotions. He visited me once when I woke up. Victor, it turned out, hadn’t told them anything about that awful day. When I told Ethan what happened, he didn’t believe me.
— He couldn’t have! Sure, he’s going through a tough time, but he wouldn’t do that! — Ethan insisted.
After Ethan left, Mary came two days later. Apparently, Ethan had told her. Victor denied everything, and she believed her son, not the “shameless girl” who’d barged into her life with her problems.
She stormed into the hospital, yelling at me, accusing me of seducing her “poor Victor.” She claimed I’d been “flaunting myself” in front of him, and he, a divorced man, couldn’t resist. She had a full-blown meltdown, terrified I’d file a police report against Victor for attempted rape.
Of course, being the kind soul I am, I didn’t do that either. I decided I’d raise Faith on my own. I was done with that family. I wasn’t going back to that madhouse, especially since they didn’t want us there. I realized this was my fate alone. After all, Ethan wasn’t to blame for anything.
Faith grew like a weed. I felt no resentment toward her for being the child of a rapist. While pregnant, I sometimes hated her, then immediately scolded myself—she was my daughter too. But when I saw her, everything changed. I was happy, despite all I’d been through.
When Ethan came to visit, I told him I planned to divorce him as soon as possible. I confessed that Faith wasn’t his. I said I’d fallen out of love, cheated on him that summer, and used him. He said he’d suspected as much and left.
A month later, Faith and I were moved to a regular room. I could breastfeed her. I’d been pumping milk to save it for her. Proper nutrition and careful care helped her gain weight, and we were discharged.
While I was in the hospital, my older sister called and offered to let me live with her on the condition that I’d watch her son. She and her husband had started a small business and had no one to leave their child with. I agreed. Did I have a choice?
My mom started visiting more often, and my aunt stopped by occasionally. I received benefits for Faith, quickly learned freelance skills, and earned good money online. This allowed me to be financially independent.
I stopped holding grudges against my siblings and reached out to them myself—we were family, after all. I only cut contact with my eldest brother.
Ethan and I got divorced. I turned 17. I plan to enroll in remote college courses. Having a child is no barrier to a better life, and for Faith and me, everything is just beginning!
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