Breaking my arm

Things were generally bearable when my husband wasn't drunk. But his fuse seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. This one day, he came home angry. When I asked him what was wrong, he started hitting me, saying I knew exactly what was wrong and that it was all my fault. I had no idea what he was talking about. When I tried to fight back, he threw me against the wall so hard that it broke my arm.

At the Emergency Room, he told the doctor I had tripped over one of the kid's toys and fallen down the stairs. Of course, we didn't have any stairs in our house. While my husband was signing us out, a nice nurse came up to me and, in a whisper, asked me if I wanted to bring charges against my husband. I was surprised and frantically shook my head no. Then she secretly handed me a piece of paper and whispered, "If you ever need help," and walked away. It was the name, address and phone number of a shelter for battered women.