I met my third husband Dean when I was twenty-seven. Dean and I went together for two years, got married, and two years later had another son Darren. Dean was amazing in bed. By far his best quality was his love-making skills. At first we had a decent marriage. Then I found out he was going to bars and telling his friends he wasn’t married. We used to fight cause he was out all the time, and he started hitting me. He would grab my hair and hit my face into objects and walls, pulling out my hair in huge chunks. I would comb my hair over the bald spots. The cops were around every other week, and at times he would knock me out and I would wake in a pool of blood with my children standing over me.
We divorced after I couldn’t handle it anymore. After that divorce I spent a lot of years alone, raising my children as a single mother. I worked at a school cafeteria to support them, and while things were tight with five children on those wages, I managed to keep their bellies full.