This morning, I received a phone call that was 12 years in the making. It was from the local police station.
In 2002 I was a young woman, with a very young child and a fiance. We were in the process of selling his condo and looking forward to a new life together as a family.
One day, while my future husband was at work, I was cleaning the condo. There was going to be an open house in two days and everything had to be perfect.
It was a warm, spring day and I had opened the doors and windows and was running the vacuum cleaner when I felt a hand cover my mouth. For the next hour, the man raped me while my son was locked out on the balcony.
I honestly don’t remember what happened after he left except that I had an immense amount of pain between my legs. I vaguely remember the police and the ambulance ride to the hospital. They did a rape kit and I went home.
Two days later, I went to the police station where I was accused of lying about the attack. I was berated and badgered till I recanted my story. Then, they took my son away and sent him to another state to live with his father.
I went through hell with this. I put myself into the mental ward because I was so confused about everything. Were they right? Did I dream it all? Was I CRAZY?!? I went through 12 YEARS of doubting myself, therapy and nightmares.
This morning was the detective calling. They have “new information” in the case and want me to come talk to them again. I have my reservations. I just pray that he hasn’t hurt someone else and that the police could have gotten this guy off the streets if they hadn’t been so insistent on victim blaming that they missed something of major importance.
I hope my youngest never finds out but…. They might have to do a DNA test….