Last night was one of the scariest nights of my life. Earlier in the day, my teacher, David told me about an argument he’d had with my father. He knew my father was upset and told me to just go to bed as I had nothing to do with the argument. So I tried. I was lying in bed, eyes closed, trying to block out the world and get some rest. That’s when my father stormed in. He saw me lying there, quiet, and for a moment, he left. I thought maybe that was it. But I could hear him in the other room, arguing with my mother, then yelling into his phone. Something told me to start recording on my phone, so I did, keeping it hidden while I stayed in bed.
Then he came back. He burst into my room, screaming, “After making our nights hell, you’re sleeping peacefully?” He demanded I get up. I was frozen, hoping he’d just leave if I stayed still. But then he grabbed my hair, yanking me up while I was still lying down. My heart was pounding. My mother rushed in, shouting, “What are you doing? You can’t do that! We’re leaving this house right now!” I thought, for a second, we might actually get out.
But it got worse. So much worse. My father started yelling for my mother and my sister in law, Princy, to bring him a knife. Over and over, he kept saying he’d cut my throat with it. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He didn’t stop there, he turned to my mother and said he’d cut her throat too. He said it 17 times, each one louder, angrier, like he was trying to make sure we knew he meant it.
We tried to leave. I was scrambling to put on my shoes, my mother right there with me, ready to run. But then my father pulled out his phone and started recording, saying it was a “live video” for David, my teacher. He told me to say whatever I wanted. I was so scared, but I managed to speak, telling the truth that he was threatening to slash my throat with a knife.
But he wasn’t done. He said we couldn’t leave with anything from the house, not a single thing. Then he started demanding money, saying I owed him for the 21 years he’s “spent” on me, like I had some kind of debt he needed to collect before he would let me go. He’d already taken my mother’s phone, and he’d grabbed mine too, though thank God the recording was still running. The doors were padlocked, trapping us inside like prisoners. I felt so helpless, like there was no way out.
Then the milkman came. It was our chance. My mother and I rushed to the door, banging on it, screaming that he was threatening to kill us, begging for someone to call the police. My father refused to open the door, saying he didn’t want the milk. We kept shouting, hoping someone would hear us. But no one answered. No one came.
I managed to get the audio recording from that night, and I’m attaching it below.
