Lower Lip Service

Some may look at the scar on her lower lip as a flaw in her beauty but if you were to hear the story of the day she received that scar, that scar she wears with pride, you would see, the scar is what makes her more beautiful.

She had foolishly trusted her sister in law to care for the children for a few weeks, when he took them and hid them from her.
Each minute of each day was a painful time, losing clumps of hair in the shower, throwing up and unable to eat. She knew the level this monster was. She could not find them. Little did she know, she was across the street from where they were when she broke down.
“I know it. I can feel it. I know they are close.”
She was right.
the children were not being fed correctly. The baby, only 1 and a half would be the lookout while the others would sneak apples out of the refrigerator. The baby, was not fed at all, except through these extreme means – of children, 3, 2, and 1 years old – getting the food. The baby, was given formula only, even though at over 1, he needed more.
She only found them through the sister-in-law, who, when she saw the baby had bruises in the back of his thighs from being hit or “spanked” was concerned. The baby apparently put a light bulb in his mouth.
What she didn’t know was the baby was knocking over the garbage to scrounge for food. Amazing how much survival skills the children had, especially at such a small age.
There were other things too, like the baby knew words but would not speak in front of the monster. The baby knew, at such an age, pretending to be helpless was his best strategy.
As told by the greatest mom that ever lived. Haha No, but close.
I know where they are. I wanted to go see them. I called. The grandfather was there. He said I could visit. I went. He was emotionally and verbally abusing Tina. She was 3… because she wouldn’t set the bed perfectly. It was scary.
I was scared.
I wanted to grab them, but I knew from my helpless years as his son’s hostage, I would lose. I had to do this right or we were in danger.
My first visitation was to happen in a few days.
Arriving for visitation
They refused to give me the children.
I called the police. Then, I went back to their doorway through the crack they had it opened, I stated how I was opposed to an epileptic who had seizures in front of the babies – watching my children. Tina had told me about the seizure and how scared she was. Over the phone, I guided her with advice to leave her, and go into another room with her brothers until they were sure it was over and they were safe.
Then, this woman, who had seizures, even a grand mal, while watching my 3 babies, punched me in the face.
The ambulance said I had to go get stitches. I told them – no. I want to be with my children. This is the first time I had to see them and be with them. They could be free, 2 days a week. I was glad to give them that. That was around August.
The police dissuaded me to file charges. They told me they didn’t see anything so it probably would just be thrown out. I said, “Oh, okay. when you leave, I can punch her in the face?”
The police laughed and said, that was not advisable and asked if I had law enforcement background or family. Yes, My mother was a court clerk in Arizona and I was always around lawyers, judges, even police.
I was glad the children could escape from my former captor, their “father”, even for a few days. I was weak and I trusted someone, and they could have suffered the rest of their lives because I was foolish. I had to make this right. I never would give up. Never!
It was Sept 13, when he turned the children over because he was facing homelessness and his sister told him to give me the kids.
I discovered the horror of the situation, what he was doing with Tina and how the boys felt helpless. I found out how she would cry and scream in the bathroom while Daddy put his toe inside her no no area. I vowed he would not spend another moment alone with her – but the courts threatened me. So, I let her visit and he did it again.
This time, the court mediator called to threaten me.
I said, “Come get me. Come take me to jail. If that is what it takes – to keep my daughter safe from that man. Come arrest me! You can just drag me to jail, if it keeps this child safe from that predator! Do it!”
Then, the court mediator realized I was serious. He said, if it’s in the best interest of the child to not be alone with him, then the courts would agree with that.
He never was alone with her again – for the rest of her life. I made sure of that.
She doesn’t remember. Every time, I see that scar, I remember how much courage it took to keep going to protect them, to make their lives better.
That’s what that scar meant to me.
That beautiful fucking scar.

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