{"id":63410,"date":"2025-05-18T05:50:48","date_gmt":"2025-05-18T09:50:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/?p=63410"},"modified":"2026-06-24T10:29:07","modified_gmt":"2026-06-24T14:29:07","slug":"the-story-ive-never-told","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/lhistoire-que-je-nai-jamais-voulu-raconter\/","title":{"rendered":"The story I've never told"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"wp-block-group is-layout-constrained wp-block-group-is-layout-constrained\">\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">During the last five years, I\u2019ve recounted my life story. I\u2019ve shared my best recipes and my successes. I didn\u2019t skimp on details about my failed marriage. I\u2019ve told you about my travels and everyday life that I\u2019ve embellished with my words. I\u2019ve admitted that I\u2019m still searching for the love of my life, having even tried my luck with a matchmaking agency!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I\u2019ve written about what I wish to complete before flying away. I still have a few secrets over which I have spilled many tears. Will I reveal them to you before I put down my pen for the last time?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">All the frozen tears and all the horrible words that came from Husband\u2019s mouth were slowly killing me. I wasn\u2019t 30 yet and my entire life revolved around him and the three children, moving from here to there, to another cockroach-infested apartment. I was afraid each time the baby woke up at night crying and hungry. I didn\u2019t switch the lights on when I heated the milk bottle so I didn\u2019t have to see the cockroaches dancing on the kitchen floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As for Husband, the gambler, dancer and drinker, I\u2019d worry when he came home in the wee hours of the morning. Did he still have enough strength in him to carry the children back to their beds? Motionless, with my eyes closed, I kept my back to him and pretended to be sound asleep. All I thought about was escaping an awful marriage that had deprived me of my native language and kept me from reading and writing, which I missed terribly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Since he\u2019d sleep until noon, I\u2019d dress and feed the kids, almost in silence, and then we\u2019d tumble down the three flights of the dreadful triplex\u2019s dilapidated stairs with the littlest one strapped securely in his baby carriage. I\u2019d try to smile, even with my heart in shreds and my soul as empty as a pagan church. When a neighbour would say hello, I simply felt like crying, crumbling under the weight of my misfortune.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Late in September, maybe early October, my period seemed to be off. I know the first symptoms well. The dread of being late, my small breasts swollen and sensitive, the nausea, fatigue and a belly growing a little rounder. I painfully count the days: 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33\u2026 I wait for the blood that never comes. Just like before. My heart aches, my body aches and my dizzy head suspects that a new life is moving inside me. I don\u2019t say anything to my mom and dad, and certainly not a word to good-for-nothing Husband, who doesn\u2019t care anyways. I try to hide, but the three children hear me sob. My daughter asks, \u201cWhy are you crying, Mommy?\u201d I\u2019m worried I\u2019m pregnant again, and all I want to do is cry. Will I talk about it with the man who never looks at me? He puts his weapon inside me and butchers me every time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I\u2019m writing these lines this morning and I can still feel the despair from those days. Pretending to have a pain in my left breast, I waited for Saturday so that Maria, my sister-in-law, could babysit the children for a few hours. Even without words, she knew what I was up to. She\u2019d also been to the same big hospital and stretched her body on a cold metal table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">With Husband still asleep, I tiptoed as I got ready. I made sure I had my health card in hand. My stomach was empty, as I had to stop eating at least 8 hours before the fateful appointment. I stuffed a large bag with a change of loose-fitting clothes and a shirt with short sleeves for the needle that would be injected into my arm. I also pack three or four large sanitary pads and a bunch of clean rags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As I left the triplex, I released all the tears my body had been withholding. I almost changed my mind, but when my feet touched the sidewalk, I found the courage to walk to the bus stop. Once at the hospital, a nurse took me to a small room and asked me to fill out a long questionnaire about my health. When she returned, she took my blood and did an ultrasound to evaluate the stage of the pregnancy. She then explained how the procedure would go. I\u2019d already had an abortion, in Greece, barely a month after giving birth to my youngest son. The old doctor who had performed my postnatal exam had informed Husband that I had become pregnant again. They colluded to give me an abortion. The old doctor put me under and removed the embryo without my consent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This time around, I was fully aware of my decision. It tortured my mind and my heart. The nurse listened to my concerns and answered my questions. I cried, I was ashamed, I wanted to run away and die, but how could I abandon my three little ones? I put my head under the pillow and stopped breathing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A second nurse came in and informed me she had to check my vital signs. She inserted a small tube into my vein. She explained that I would be given a painkiller and sedative. She comforted me and told me I wasn\u2019t going to be asleep, just a bit \u201cout of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I was seized with fear when a man entirely dressed in white walked into the room. The doctor, I presumed. He approached my body. The nurse explained to me that the doctor was going to freeze my cervix, the passageway through which a baby emerges at birth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I was well aware that I wasn\u2019t in any situation to bring another child into the world. I also knew, because my sister-in-law told me, that the doctor would insert a small straw-like plastic tube into me to draw out the contents of my uterus. I cried some more, I was afraid and I blamed myself; maybe I\u2019d forgotten to take the small pill I was supposed to swallow every morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Moments after the procedure was over, I was transferred to the recovery room where I stayed for an hour. A nurse checked my pulse, my heart rate and whether the bleeding had lessened. I couldn\u2019t leave until the sedative and painkillers, which had weakened my reflexes and concentration, had worn off. They strongly recommended that someone accompany me home. I watched the clock and became anxious thinking about being stuck in the late-afternoon traffic on a bus full of passengers, and that Husband might wonder where I was. Even if he didn\u2019t care a shred about me, he\u2019d notice if I were absent. I got dressed slowly, thickening my underwear with two sanitary pads and a rag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">All alone, I slowly descended the hospital\u2019s big staircase. Once outside, I made my way to the bus stop with small steps. I must have looked a bit tired because a young girl offered me her seat. On the way home, I went through the full range of emotions. In front of the triplex, courage failed me and I collapsed. I had to get back on my feet quickly before someone saw me, or worse, before Husband caught sight of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Exhausted, I climbed the stairs to the apartment step by step, holding onto the rail. I called my sister-in-law to let her know I was home and that she could bring the kids back. I took a deep breath and swallowed my pain. I locked this day away in a drawer in my memory. A drawer I rarely open because of the terrible wailing that is audible each time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Cora<br>\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>During the last five years, I\u2019ve recounted my life story. I\u2019ve shared my best recipes and my successes. I didn\u2019t skimp on details about my failed marriage. I\u2019ve told you about my travels and everyday life that I\u2019ve embellished with my words. I\u2019ve admitted that I\u2019m still searching for the love of my life, having even tried my luck with a matchmaking agency! I\u2019ve written about what I wish to complete before flying away. I still have a few secrets over which I have spilled many tears. Will I reveal them to you before I put down my pen for the last time? All the frozen tears and all the horrible words that came from Husband\u2019s mouth were slowly killing me. I wasn\u2019t 30 yet and my entire life revolved around him and the three children, moving from here to there, to another cockroach-infested apartment. I was afraid each time the baby woke up at night crying and hungry. I didn\u2019t switch the lights on when I heated the milk bottle so I didn\u2019t have to see the cockroaches dancing on the kitchen floor. As for Husband, the gambler, dancer and drinker, I\u2019d worry when he came home in the wee hours of the morning. Did he still have enough strength in him to carry the children back to their beds? Motionless, with my eyes closed, I kept my back to him and pretended to be sound asleep. All I thought about was escaping an awful marriage that had deprived me of my native language and kept me from reading and writing, which I missed terribly. Since he\u2019d sleep until noon, I\u2019d dress and feed the kids, almost in silence, and then we\u2019d tumble down the three flights of the dreadful triplex\u2019s dilapidated stairs with the littlest one strapped securely\u2026<\/p>","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":63411,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_seopress_titles_title":"","_seopress_titles_desc":"Apr\u00e8s cinq ans de lettres, Mme Cora se d\u00e9cide \u00e0 raconter l'histoire qu'elle n'avait jamais voulu partager.","_seopress_robots_index":"","_seopress_robots_follow":"","_seopress_robots_imageindex":"","_seopress_robots_snippet":"","_seopress_robots_primary_cat":"","_seopress_robots_breadcrumbs":"","_seopress_robots_freeze_modified_date":"","_seopress_robots_custom_modified_date":"","_seopress_robots_canonical":"","_seopress_social_fb_title":"","_seopress_social_fb_desc":"","_seopress_social_fb_img":"","_seopress_social_fb_img_attachment_id":0,"_seopress_social_fb_img_width":0,"_seopress_social_fb_img_height":0,"_seopress_social_twitter_title":"","_seopress_social_twitter_desc":"","_seopress_social_twitter_img":"","_seopress_social_twitter_img_attachment_id":0,"_seopress_social_twitter_img_width":0,"_seopress_social_twitter_img_height":0,"_seopress_redirections_value":"","_seopress_redirections_enabled":"","_seopress_redirections_enabled_regex":"","_seopress_redirections_logged_status":"","_seopress_redirections_param":"","_seopress_redirections_type":0,"_seopress_analysis_target_kw":"","_seopress_news_disabled":"","_seopress_video_disabled":"","_seopress_video":[],"_seopress_pro_schemas_manual":[],"_seopress_pro_rich_snippets_disable_all":"","_seopress_pro_rich_snippets_disable":[],"_seopress_pro_schemas":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[42],"class_list":["post-63410","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"blocksy_meta":{"styles_descriptor":{"styles":{"desktop":"","tablet":"","mobile":""},"google_fonts":[],"version":8}},"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63410","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/414"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=63410"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63410\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/63411"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=63410"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=63410"}],"curies":[{"name":"WP","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}