"I killed my soul mate."
 

    Elizabeth had been in our group for a long time and participated but really did not divulge too much of her personal story.  This is not unusual and in fact, we encourage our participants to not share details of their criminal case in-group because of the limits of confidentiality.  But she asked to meet with me privately so we sat together and she told me her story.

    “I have never been in jail before and have never been in trouble before.  I can’t believe that I am here and am so afraid of what my future holds and of what may happen to my children.”

    As she sat contemplating her next statement, she pushed back her long red hair and pointed to a scar running diagonally from her hairline, across her forehead, through her eyebrow and onto her eyelid.  She sighed and continued.

    “My boyfriend did this to me after my second child was born.  He was angry that the dinner wasn’t ready when he got home and grabbed the knife I was using in the kitchen and cut me.  I almost lost sight in my left eye.  I told the doctor that I had stumbled while preparing dinner because I was afraid that James would be in trouble.  James was so sorry and promised to never hurt me again.  I believed him.

    “I grew up in a family that was chaotic and dysfunction; as the oldest of four children my role became pretty clear at an early age:  I was the caretaker.  My grandmother used to say that I was taking care of babies—my siblings—when I was still a baby myself.  I met James at a friend’s house and was attracted to his charm and thoughtfulness.  He listened to me, was considerate and kind and treated me as though I was the most important person in the world to him.  I was instantly in love!  I had never been treated like this before.

    ““But James was different and when he asked me to move in with him on our second date, I agreed.  This man was my soul mate and I was committed to making our relationship work, no matter what.  I loved my life with James.  We had our own little house and I loved caring for him and for my own home.  After our first child was born, however, he came angry and jealous.  When I was nursing our baby, he would sulk and begin criticizing everything about my parenting, my housekeeping, my cooking and me.  You name it and it was fair game for his criticism and ridicule.  His abuse began as verbal abuse only but quickly became more sinister.  After the birth of our second child, he began hitting me, always in places that my clothing covered.  He never really bonded with our two boys and was often curt and mean to them when we were alone.  But in public, he seemed like the perfect dad and partner—always kind, considerate and loving.  No one knew what went on behind our closed doors but increasingly the violence was escalating.

    “Six months ago, I came home from work and saw James holding our eight-month old child.  He was screaming and shaking the baby.  I begged him to give our son to me, that I would care for him.  My son was terrified and so was I.  James had been drinking and was out of control.  Finally, he laid the baby on the couch and lunged for me.  He was furious about something—I still don’t know what set him off.  I stumbled when he hit me and my hand fell against a marble candlestick that my parents had given me.  I grabbed the candlestick without thinking and when he lunged at me again, hit him.  He fell over, his head bleeding; he was not moving.

    “My soul mate is dead and I am here accused of his murder.  How did something that began with such promise and hope end in such violence and ugliness?  What is going to happen to my boys now?  What is going to happen to me?”