Nicole's Truth

Host Ashley tells SDK sister Nicole's story about an abusive husband and he was also convicted of child abuse against her son. She wanted her story told to help other women in similar situations get out before it is too late.

Thank you for listening: If you want to be a guest or want me to tell your story, questions or comments please email me at Shedidntknowpodcast@gmail.com

My Tiktok page: Katching up with Ash @katchingupwithash

Transcript

SPEAKER_04 0:17

Help back to tea still carry home Hands full of scars I'm full of bow They try to break up Big up your blue I'm the back to the blue night Oh my god Happy Truth back in play No down to the taste done with the Show and the Show and the Show and the What's Welcome back to SDK Wednesdays with your girl Ash.

SPEAKER_00 2:47

I hope y'all like my new intro and thank you for tuning in to another episode. I have a story to tell, so let's get into SDK story time.

SPEAKER_02 2:56

Yeah. It's Ash on the track. SDK Sisters, yeah, we back. Pull up a seat. It's story time now. Real talk, real laughs. Let me show you how. SDK sisters story time with Ash. Little life lessons in the flash. From the cold to the chaos, we clash. SDK sisters story time with Ash.

SPEAKER_00 3:30

So I will be reading a story from an SDK sister who was not able to tell her story because she can't get through it without crying. She wanted her story told, so I'm here to share it. I first met Daniel in 2011 while I was visiting my mother in Germany. At the time, I was living in Hawaii. Daniel was stationed in Baumholder, Germany, serving on active duty as a cavalry scout in the United States Army. When I returned to Hawaii, I realized it wasn't where I wanted to build my life. I packed up my two children, my dogs, and everything I owned, and I moved back to Germany for a fresh start. For several months, Daniel and I worked friends. During that time, I became pregnant by another man I was dating, but that relationship eventually ended. In 2012, Daniel returned from deployment. The first time I saw him after he came home, he came over to my apartment. We spent the evening playing video games, laughing, and talking. One thing led to another, and before long, we were together. We talked about our future and the life we wanted to build. I truly believed I had found the person I was meant to spend my life with. We got married. Looking back now, I can see that there were warning signs where the warning signs were already there, but I didn't recognize them. Daniel liked to drink. I didn't know who he had become when he drank. At first, it was grabbing my arm too hard, pulling me toward him, squeezing me until it hurt. I made excuses for him. He just doesn't know his own strength. A few weeks after we were married, I learned he had attempted suicide three separate times before we had gotten married. I hadn't known any of that. I believed that if I loved him enough and stood beside him, everything would be okay. Then the loving words slowly turned into cruelty. Every argument somehow became my fault. Every outburst had an explanation that pointed back to me. If he was angry, it was because of something I had done. If he drank, there was always a reason. I apologized for things that weren't my fault because I thought if I did, it would just get better and things would change. Whenever I tried to leave, he cried. He told me he loved me. He promised he would change. I wanted to believe him because I loved him. I believed the man I had fallen in love with was still there somewhere beneath the anger. Then came the first time he hit me. Our baby was crying. Instead of comforting our child, he blamed me. Before I could understand what was happening, he slapped me across the face. I remember the shock more than the pain. I told myself it would never happen again. I was wrong. By 2013, we were living in Fort Benning, Georgia. His drinking became worse. He crashed a car we had just bought, hid it in the back 40 of Fort Benning, and falsely reported it stolen. His behavior became more reckless, and he started getting into more trouble. In June 2013, after we had spent two months apart, I joined him at Fort Benning, hoping it would be a fresh start. Instead, the abuse escalated. He began hiding alcohol. He hit me. He punched me so hard in the back of my head that I lost consciousness. He raped me. There were times when he strangled me. One day while I was taking a shower, he punched through the shower curtain, ripping it down. While I was dazed, he wrapped the shower curtain around me and tried to suffocate me. The bruises on my arms became normal. One day I tried to leave. As I held the door open, he slammed it shut so hard that it broke my fingers. At the hospital, my provider looked at me straight in the eyes and said, I can't help you unless you tell me what's really going on. I looked back and told the lie I believe would keep me alive. I slipp while mopping the floor. Fear had taught me to protect the man hurting me instead of protecting myself. Weeks would pass where everything seemed perfect again. He apologized. He showered me with affection. He promised he had changed. I didn't know that then that it was called love bombing. Then the drinking would start again. The violence would return. One day after he left the house, I changed the locks. A few hours later, he came back and kicked the front door completely off the frame. The military police came. I thought someone would finally protect me. Instead, after his 72-hour hold, I was told he could come back because his military pay was paying for the house. I felt trapped. By then I had become isolated from my family and friends. He constantly degraded me. While I was working as a bartender at the Bowling Alley, he stole money from me. He constantly accused me of cheating, even though I wasn't. I found myself changing everything about my life just to avoid another accusation. Eventually I reached my breaking point. He let me and the children out of the car after another argument. I carried my daughter in her car seat while my boys walked behind me. Daniel drove alongside us, screaming profanities and calling me every name imaginable. Then he said the words I will never forget. If I can have you, no one will. He fell back with the car and suddenly accelerated toward towards us, driving onto the curb where we were walking. Instead of hitting us, he crashed into a light pole, knocking out power to the base housing. He crawled out of the windshield covered in blood. My oldest son looked at me and said, Mom, he's a zombie. We need to run. After the crash, he attempted to jump from a bridge before emergency responders intervened. He was taken to the hospital where he was identified as suicidal and in need of mental health treatment. That crash became my final straw. I quietly gathered evidence, I saved money, I filed for divorce and was awarded full custody of our daughter. All I wanted was to keep her safe. Weeks later, Daniel called me. He told me he had been discharged from the army for a failure to adapt. He said he had gotten help. He said he had changed. More than anything, he told me he just wanted to be in his daughter's life. I believed him. Looking back, that was the biggest mistake I made after finally getting free. By December 2013 and January 2014, the abuse had already started all over again. Then came Easter weekend 2014. We had an Easter egg hunt in the breeze weight and barbecue. That evening I put my boys in the bathtub while my daughter was asleep. I walked next door to return dishes to my neighbor and lost track of time. About 10 minutes later, Daniel came over and said, Something happened, but something happened, but it wasn't me. My stomach dropped. I walked back home. The boys' room was dark. I quietly told them I loved them. Then I heard my oldest cry. When I turned on the light, his face was black and purple. I pulled him out of bed asking what happened. He looked me in the eyes and quietly said, I don't know what you're talking about, mommy. I grabbed both boys and ran and ran across the breezeway to my neighbor's apartment, screaming for her to call 911, but my daughter was still inside. I walked back to the apartment without ever turning my back on Daniel. I picked her up while calmly asking him what had happened. The insults continued. The moment I stepped back through the front doorway holding my daughter, I knew we were finally safe. When police arrived, my children initially said they didn't know what had happened. An officer interviewed them privately. A few minutes later, he came back and told me what my oldest son had described. While the boys were playing in the bathtub, Daniel held my oldest son's head under the water. My son believed he was going to die. When he screamed, Daniel slammed his head against the bathtub. When Daniel turned toward his younger brother, my oldest begged him to hurt him instead. Daniel wrapped a town around his neck, dragged him through the apartment, and threw him into a little car table. A warrant was issued. Two days later, Daniel casually walked back to my apartment. He was arrested. A few days later, his father bailed him out. The stalking began. He was arrested again. His girlfriend began threatening my children and me. He was arrested again. And his bond was revoked. Months of court hearings followed. At one hearing, Daniel claimed my children were too young to know what had happened and that they were lying. My oldest son testified privately before the judge. Before telling the judge what happened, he talked about how our dog had puppies and how he first thought they were hamsters. Then he described the abuse. The judge returned to the courtroom and simply said, I've heard enough. We're setting this for trial. Two days later, Daniel pleaded guilty to second-degree child abuse. For the first time, I felt like my children had been believed. But the fear didn't end. The harassment continued. One night in November, I received a call from a block number. No one spoke. The only words I remember saying were, if you're gonna do it, just do it. The next morning, while I was at work, I received a voicemail from a detective asking me to call. They asked me to meet them. There, I learned they needed me to identify Daniel's body. They told me two notes had been found, including one addressed to my daughter. I identified him. The love had disappeared years before. The hatred disappeared that day. What remained was disbelief. I later learned that after calling me the night before, he died by suicide. His story ended. Mine didn't. Today I live with post-traumatic stress, anxiety, depression, and the lasting effects of everything my children and I survived. I carry an overwhelming need to protect my children because I know how quickly life can change. But we survive. Today, my oldest son is 18. My second son is almost 17. My daughter is almost 15. And I have another little girl who is almost 11. Every morning I wake up and see their faces. I am grateful. There was a time when I believed I would lose everything. I didn't. That is why I am telling my story. I want people to know they are not alone. I want people living through what I live through to recognize the warning signs before it is almost too late. Abuse doesn't usually begin with broken bones. It begins with control, excuses, isolations, promises. If my story helps even one person leave sooner, then every painful memory I've carried has a purpose. This is not just a story of what happened to me. It is the story of how my children and I survived. So that is her story. And she is strong and amazing, and I have talked to her. So I know you're listening. So thank you for letting me share your story. And SDK family, I'll see you next Wednesday.

SPEAKER_03 16:51

Yo. It's Ash on the mic. We out, that's the end. If you felt this one, hit share, tell a friend. Thanks for riding with me. Every take, every gen. See you next Wednesday, SDK fam. See you next Wednesday. Locking again. Ash on your air, with talking on my friends. Thank you for resilience. They want to. See you next Wednesday, SDK Fan.