Breaking the Cycle Read Online Free

help victims of abuse, but only if they were trying to help themselves. I lied and told her that Momma wanted out; that it was all she ever talked about. Irene insisted that we meet somewhere locally and I was shocked when I finally got up the nerve to broach the subject with Momma and she agreed.
    We met Irene at the Tastee Diner and she told us all about the abusive husband she escaped from along with her three kids. One of them, a daughter named Sheila, was about my age. We worked out plans that very night to flee on March 30th. That would allow us enough time to get our affairs in order, not that we had any affairs, and save up a little spending cash. Irene said that we wouldn’t need much because the shelter had certain benefactors who believed in the right of women to be free from such despair.
    So there we were, about to embark on the first day of the rest of our lives. I glanced over at Momma and she was frozen in time, trembling like a leaf. “Momma, I think the car is warm enough. We can go now.” She didn’t respond; simply sat there staring into space. “Momma?”
    “Okay, Baby,” she weakly replied. “Give me a second to get my bearings together.”
    “It’s okay to be scared.” I caressed the hand that was gripping the steering wheel. “I’m scared, too, but it has to be like this.”
    “You’re right.” She glanced over at me. “It has to be like this. Besides, I did promise Momma.”
    “Yes, you did, and I’m sure she’s looking down from heaven at us right this second cheering us on.” I looked at the dashboard clock and saw that is was 9:30. “We have to go now so we won’t be late. Irene is waiting.”
    Momma put the car in reverse and backed slowly out of the parking space. I took one last survey of the building we had inhabited for a few years and bit my bottom lip when I spotted the lawn chairs out in front of Mrs. Cowan’s apartment. I was going to miss her so much. I wondered what she would think once she realized we had picked up and left town. I was sure Josh would ask her what she knew about our disappearance. I hoped he wouldn’t be too hard on her. I got the feeling she wouldn’t take much, if any, of his disrespectful nonsense anyway.

    Momma and I barely said a word to each other the hundred or so miles to D.C. Since the radio in the LeMans had been busted for years, I hummed songs like “Amazing Grace” and “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” most of the way. The same songs Grandma used to hum to me.
    When we got to the 14th Street Bridge, I reached over the seat to get the piece of paper out of my duffel bag with the directions to Union Station scribbled on it and then proceeded to direct Momma the rest of the way there. We parked in the indoor garage, just like Irene had instructed us, grabbed our bags, locked the car, and caught the escalator down two levels to the terminal.
    My eyes had a hard time adjusting to the bright lights as Momma and I searched for Irene. Union Station was packed. I remember thinking I had never seen so many people in one place in my entire life.
    “Momma, I don’t see Irene. Do you?” I asked in a panic. The huge clock in the center of the terminal said five minutes after twelve. I was hoping she hadn’t left because we weren’t there exactly on time.
    “Isn’t that her over there?” Momma pointed toward a tall brunette in a gray trench coat. I thought she was right until the woman turned around and didn’t look a day over twenty.
    “No, that’s not her.” We walked hand in hand past hordes of people rushing to catch this train or that train. “She has to be here someplace. She just has to be,” I whined.
    Then I heard it, a faint but distinct cry. Someone was calling out my name. I swung around in the general direction of the voice and spotted Irene half-running toward us. She had these deep-set gray eyes that were so piercing you could see them a mile away.
    Momma let out a heavy sigh. She wasn’t the only one relieved.