My name is Natalie Foster, and that afternoon, in the apartment in Chicago, I forgot to put salt in the soup. It was a small mistake, but with Connor, negligence was paid for dearly.
The evening began like many others in the small apartment on the south side of Chicago, with the windows cracked open to let in the weak autumn air and the sound of traffic drifting up from the street below. Natalie Foster stood at the stove, one hand resting instinctively on her swollen belly while the other stirred a pot of soup. The smell of chicken broth and vegetables filled the kitchen, warm and familiar, the kind of smell that once made her believe she was building something stable.
She heard the front door slam.
Connor Foster came in without greeting her. His tie was loose, his jacket half off his shoulder, his face tight with irritation that had nothing to do with hunger. Natalie did not turn right away. She had learned that sudden movements sometimes made things worse.
“What is this?” Connor asked, dipping a spoon into the pot without waiting for an answer.
“Soup,” Natalie replied calmly. “You said you would be late, so I kept it warm.”
He tasted it, frowned, then tasted it again, his jaw tightening.
“Did you even season this?” he snapped.
Natalie opened her mouth to answer, but the sound that followed was not a word. It was the sharp crack of Connor’s hand against her face. Her ears rang instantly, and before her body could process the pain, he grabbed the pot and tipped it over her head. Hot broth soaked her hair and ran down her cheeks and neck, dripping onto the floor.
“Useless,” Connor shouted. “You cannot even cook.”
Natalie stood still. Her baby shifted inside her, a sudden anxious movement that made her breath hitch. She did not scream. She did not cry. She stared at the tiles and counted her breaths, one, two, three, the way she had learned to do when the shouting started months ago.
Connor walked past her toward the balcony, already lighting a cigarette as if nothing had happened.
Natalie went into the bathroom and turned on the cold water. She washed the soup from her hair slowly, methodically. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she noticed something that frightened her more than the slap. Her eyes were calm. Not numb, not broken. Calm.
“If he does this because of salt,” she thought, gripping the sink, “what will he do when the baby cries at night.”
She remembered a phone number she had not dialed in years. Brianna Lewis, her high school friend, the one Connor never met because Natalie kept that part of her life hidden.
She opened the drawer under the tablecloth and found her wallet. Her identification was there. The small notebook was there too, filled with dates, words, threats written in neat handwriting she barely recognized as her own. Her phone buzzed.
“Clean this up before I get back,” Connor had written.
Natalie read the message without emotion. Then she dialed Brianna’s number.
“Nat?” Brianna answered, her voice instantly alert.
“I need to leave tonight,” Natalie said quietly. “I am pregnant. I am not safe.”
There was no hesitation.
“I am coming,” Brianna replied. “I am bringing Paul. Stay where you are.”
Natalie hung up as she heard Connor’s footsteps approaching. She slipped the phone into her bra and took a deep breath.
Connor pushed the bathroom door open.
“Who were you talking to?” he demanded.
“My aunt,” Natalie lied, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “She worries.”
He studied her for a moment, then shrugged and turned away, the television volume rising seconds later.
Natalie packed quickly. Two changes of clothes. Her charger. Cash. Medical papers. Her face throbbed, but the thought of staying hurt more. When she stepped into the hallway, the elevator felt too slow, so she took the stairs, holding the railing as a tightening spread across her abdomen.
Outside, the air was cold. She was shaking when a taxi stopped in front of the building. Brianna jumped out first.
“Get in,” Brianna said firmly, wrapping Natalie in a blanket. “Now.”
Paul Miller, Brianna’s partner, handed Natalie a bottle of water as the taxi pulled away.
“First you are safe,” Paul said. “Everything else comes later.”
They went straight to the emergency room. Natalie wanted to refuse, wanted to disappear instead, but Brianna squeezed her hand.
“This matters,” Brianna said. “For you and for the baby.”
The nurse, Helen Rodriguez, listened carefully as Natalie spoke. She did not interrupt. She examined the bruising, noted Natalie’s blood pressure, and looked her directly in the eyes.
“What happened to you is violence,” Helen said. “Not stress. Not a bad night. Violence.”
That night, Natalie filed a report. Officer Denise Harper wrote everything down without judgment. A social worker explained the next steps, the shelter, the restraining order, the phone numbers that were answered day and night.
When Natalie left the hospital, the fear did not vanish, but it no longer controlled her.
The days that followed were slow and heavy. Paperwork. Appointments. Nights on Brianna’s couch, waking from dreams where Connor was still standing in the doorway. When the restraining order came through, Natalie cried quietly, not from relief, but from exhaustion.
Connor tried calling from unknown numbers. He left messages begging, then threatening. Natalie saved them all.
Two weeks later, labor began in earnest. Brianna drove her to the hospital, talking steadily the entire way.
“You are doing great,” Brianna kept saying. “You are stronger than you think.”
Natalie gave birth to a baby girl with a powerful cry. She named her Violet.
When Violet was placed on her chest, Natalie felt something shift inside her. Not joy exactly, but resolve.
“I will not let this be her normal,” Natalie whispered.
Months later, Natalie moved into a small apartment arranged through a local charity. She returned to her old job part time. The trial came and went. Evidence spoke louder than promises.
One evening, as Natalie rocked Violet near the window, the city lights blinking below, Brianna asked softly, “Are you okay.”
Natalie nodded slowly.
“I am learning,” she said. “That is enough for now.”