I was sold off for ten dollars by my parents and had a child at an early age. My husband had a strange temper and would beat me every day. I had three miscarriages, all because of the abuse. During the limited time I could see my son, I desperately tried to teach him, urging him to strive for a better life, to become a good person, and not to end up like his father. But when he reached the same age I was sold off, he brought home a girl who was already six months pregnant. I watched helplessly as the girl went through everything I had experienced—becoming a mother at an age when she barely understood anything, enduring abuse, and then being abandoned by my son. She, just like me, was locked away in a dark, windowless hut, suffering humiliation. At that time, I fully understood that my son was just like his father. They would never change. The only person I could ever hope for was myself. So, one bitterly cold night, while my husband and son were fast asleep, I quietly broke the door to their bedroom. I reached out my hand to the girl who always curled up in the corner, trembling. I said, “I’ll take you to live a better life. Will you come with me?”
I was sold off for ten dollars by my parents because my brother was about to marry, and they needed the money to pay for the wedding gift. It was hard to say how I felt at the time. I only remember the day before I left, my mother gave me a boiled egg, muttering as she handed it to me, “If you can do something for your brother, at least you won’t have come into this world in vain.” So, it was hard to tell if I should feel sad or, like she said, feel lucky to be the family’s benefactor. The place I married was far from home. It would take more than fifty hours on a train to get there. The only thing I took with me was a dress my mother had made for herself the year before. She said that since I was married, I should at least look decent. The train ticket was too expensive, and they were afraid I might run away, so my father had to accompany me. It just so happened that the new school year was starting, and a girl sat next to me on the train. Seeing that we were about the same age, she took the initiative to strike up a conversation. She asked, “Are you going to register for college? How lucky! Your father is even sending you off to school. “Actually, I think I’m quite fortunate too. Girls my age back home are all married. My parents may be poor, but they didn’t just pick any man for me to marry. I’m really thankful to them. We’re going to school now, and we’ll definitely see a bigger world in the future.” Her energy was infectious, but unfortunately, I wasn’t the kind of person she spoke about, someone who could go out and explore the world. I just gave a faint smile and didn’t respond. My father remained silent, staring out the window. I was just a pigeon that had been let out of a cage, and after a brief breath of freedom, I would soon be trapped in another dark cage. When the train stopped at a shared station, most of the passengers got off. I watched her grab her bag and stand up, and when she saw that I hadn’t moved, her expression turned puzzled. I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye. After passing by each other, we were heading toward two entirely different worlds. I had merely exchanged a brief encounter with a future, capable woman. Yet, at that moment, I felt a glimmer of hope. I may have ended up like this, but I prayed that my child would be able to walk out into the world just like her. Maybe, one day, they could take me with them.
My husband was over ten years older than me, named John, and he was a man with a limp, unable to move easily. He didn’t talk much and often examined me with eyes that were hard to describe, making me feel an inexplicable sense of fear. It would be a lie to say I didn’t resent it, but I also accepted it. After all, for a woman like me, walking down this path was inevitable. It was just a matter of when my family would need me and which family could offer enough money to satisfy my parents. What troubled me most was that I didn’t even get the smallest bit of dignity from John, living like an animal. The day my father sent me to him was our wedding day. Many people came to his home, mostly single men from the village. After getting drunk, some of them boldly said to me, “John is really lucky. He actually managed to find such a beautiful wife. If I had spoken up earlier, maybe I’d be the one getting married today!” “Do you have any younger sisters? I’ll pay a bit more, and you can send her to me!” I pretended to be shy and didn’t respond, but I felt afraid of their inappropriate jokes and touches. John stood off to the side, smoking a cheap cigarette and blowing the smoke towards me, causing me to cough uncontrollably. I didn’t dare to look at him, but I could feel his gaze on me, even though he didn’t say a word. At the time, I didn’t understand that this was a sign of his anger, a prelude to the emotional storm that I couldn’t handle. That night, I was tortured by him, feeling as if I were dying. No one had ever taught me what was right or wrong. I just cried until exhaustion set in, numbly staring through the window at the moonlight. I couldn’t help but think of that girl, feeling a deep sense of envy. I envied her for not being treated this way by strange men. I envied her even more because she could sleep peacefully in a place where the future still seemed possible. One cannot be exposed to too many good things, or else longing and yearning arise. Then, when faced with the harsh reality, all that remains is unbearable pain. Before dawn, John slapped me awake, dragging me naked into the hut without saying a word. The early morning wind was chilly, seeping through the cracks in the walls, making me shiver uncontrollably. When the whip struck my skin, I screamed in pain, and the burning wounds became even more excruciating as the cold air touched them. I kept trying to pull away, unable to understand what I had done wrong. John, clearly enraged by my movements, grabbed my hair and slapped me again. Breathing heavily, he cursed, “Already trying to flirt with men? What’s the difference between you and an animal in heat? “I bought you! You’re just an object, and I can treat you however I want!” I didn’t dare to defend myself. If I raised my voice, he would just hit me harder, and tears flowed endlessly from my eyes. I saw the bloodshot gleam in his eyes, a twisted kind of excitement. The sound of the whip against my flesh mixed with the distant crowing of a rooster as if the soundtrack of my life had become this brutal moment, offering a glimpse into a future full of injuries.
After that day, I never saw anyone else. John locked me in the hut, where I ate and slept. I could only leave when he needed to release his desires. Perhaps because of his limp, John had never received fair treatment and had a particularly volatile temper. When he was in a bad mood, he would hit me to vent his frustration, usually after drinking, and then hold me, crying, “I’ve always been like this, but I don’t want to be like this! Why do they all laugh at me? Why don’t they respect me?” He longed for respect, but when faced with someone weaker than him, someone like me, he resorted to even more cruel methods. I was angry with him, but I didn’t dare to hate him. My mother had always said, “When you marry, you follow your husband.” And she also had been beaten by my father, so I thought this was normal. Luckily, I didn’t endure these beatings for long because I became pregnant. That was the first time I saw John smile at me and the first time I was able to sit at the table and eat. He became much more patient with me, asking me to sleep in the same bed and gently touching my belly, saying, “Make sure you give me a son!” Truth be told, I had always wanted a daughter. When I was younger, I imagined having a little girl and dressing her up like a little princess. But now, I didn’t mind having a son. If I had a daughter, she would suffer with me, and I wouldn’t be able to protect her. But if it was a son, I hoped he could protect me when John hit me. With this thought, I eagerly awaited his arrival. Whenever I sat outside in the sun and saw people walking by with bundles, I would quietly rub my belly and whisper, “Hurry up and grow, and one day, like them, you’ll take me away.”
I gave birth to Adam when I was still under twenty, and John was extremely happy. He even killed a chicken to take care of me and help me regain my strength. I thought that with Adam’s presence, I could have a normal married life with him. I didn’t ask for much from him. I only hoped that, for the sake of the son I had given him, he wouldn’t beat me anymore. I didn’t want to go back to that hut. It was dark and oppressive as if my whole life would be buried there. But my hope was in vain. When Adam turned one, John invited many people to our house. He wanted to show off his son but didn’t want me to be seen. However, a one-year-old child is very clingy, and when he couldn’t find me, he cried loudly. I couldn’t bear to hear him cry, and seeing that John had been relatively kinder to me recently, I couldn’t resist. I quickly came out and held the child to comfort him. But it was a huge mistake. And that mistake would ruin me forever. After soothing Adam to sleep in front of everyone, I thought it was over, but drunken John suddenly stormed in. He dragged me out of the bedroom, stripped me in front of everyone, and then picked up the whip that had been hanging on the wall for days, striking me with it fiercely. He laughed as he beat me, laughing wildly and provocatively at the people who had come. He said, “You all want to see her? She’s nothing more than a bitch to me! Today, if you want to see, you can look all you want!” I had never felt so hopeless. He truly treated me like a dog, crushing the last bit of dignity I had as a human. I was locked back in that room, running a high fever, delirious, and dreaming that I was once again on that train. But this time, when the train stopped, it was me who got off with a backpack.
The days I was pregnant felt like a dream. When I woke up, I had to return to the life that John had planned for me. Fortunately, John allowed me to see Adam every couple of days. Though my time with him was limited, as he grew older, he started to look more and more like his father, a painful truth I couldn’t change. It seemed like he was well cared for by John and had a gentle temperament, unlike his father. This gave me a glimmer of hope to keep going. But life always seemed to strike me down. I miscarried when Adam was six. This was the fourth child I had lost after Adam. The first two had been lost due to malnutrition, combined with years of beatings from John. I held a deep hope for this pregnancy. I prayed every day that this baby would grow safely and come into this world. But just because John kicked me, it was gone. It was the first time in all these years that I broke down completely. The blood-soaked straw mat beneath me, and John simply called a midwife from the village to take care of things. I heard Adam asking him from outside, “Mom’s bleeding. I saw Jack bleeding before, and his parents took him to the hospital. Aren’t we taking Mom to the hospital?” “Why bother? That dog out front had a leg so bad you could see the bone, and now it’s still hopping around. Your mom’s just like that dog!” “I get it. Women aren’t worth it, right? I heard Jack’s dad say that!” John laughed heartily. Both of them entered the room, and not a single person came to see me. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony I felt at that moment. My son hadn’t come to protect me when I was desperate, and instead, he was learning things I didn’t want him to learn. He was quickly picking up all of his father’s bad habits.
Even so, I kept lying to myself. He was just a six-year-old child, after all. He didn’t understand anything, so I thought I should educate him well. Whenever I could see him, I usually just watched him play silently. But from that day forward, I became obsessed. Every day, I told him, “Adam, you have to study hard. You have to get out of this place.” At the time, I didn’t understand what the real problem was. I simply told him to leave. I naively believed that if he could just escape his father, if he could leave here, he would become the person I hoped for. I never told him that his mother was not like a dog. I deserved respect, just like any other human being. So he never learned to respect me, nor did he learn how to respect the thousands of women in this world. I thought my advice was working because I saw his grades improve. I often heard John say that his teachers praised him, and he would often share with me what he did in town. I was happy, thinking that this was his first step to getting out. But I never imagined that when he left, it wasn’t to escape. It was to hurt another unfortunate woman.
The first time I saw Sarah, she was already six months pregnant. When I asked her age, I almost couldn’t hold back my tears. She was younger than I was back then. She was even younger than I was… I lifted her clothes, and her body was covered in bruises. “Why are you here? Didn’t Adam say he went out to work?” The last shred of hope in my heart was collapsing, fearing the words she might say would tear me apart, but the truth was right there in front of me, ready to shred me to pieces. “I don’t know… Adam said he would bring me back to live a good life… I didn’t know…” The girl’s mental state was already disoriented. As she sensed my approach, she covered her ears and backed away, just like I did back then. This was the stress response from being tortured for too long. Adam walked in and saw me, and he smiled brightly, “Mom, she’s carrying your grandson. Can you help me take care of her?” Fear and despair spread throughout my body. Taking care of her? What good life could we have in this house? If he really wanted to take care of her, why would he torture her like this? “You tell me, what have you been doing outside? What did you do to this girl?” Tears filled my eyes, and Adam stood in front of me, his whole figure blurry to me. He just sneered and casually said, Free Point
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