My Boyfriend Let His Parents Kidnap Me for My Own Pregnancy

The Secret Note and a Neighbor’s Suspicion

The days between his visits felt endless as I planned exactly how I would move. I thought about which hand I would use and where I would hide the phone in the two seconds before he turned around.

I practiced the motion over and over in my head until I could see it perfectly. When he finally came for the next examination, I was ready.

He walked in with his father right behind him like always and set his bag down in the usual spot. My heart was beating so hard I thought they might hear it.

He turned his back to set up the ultrasound, and I lunged forward off the bed. My hand reached for that side pocket.

I got my fingers on the phone and started to pull it out, but he spun around faster than I expected. His hand clamped around my wrist and twisted hard, forcing my fingers open.

The phone dropped back into his bag. He kept twisting until I cried out and fell to my knees.

He didn’t say anything, just held my wrist in that painful grip. He reached into his pocket with his other hand and pressed something.

His father came down the stairs within two minutes. I realized the doctor had some kind of alert button.

They didn’t hit me or yell at me. His father just started removing things from the room in complete silence.

He took the few items of clothing they’d given me from the small dresser. He took the extra blanket from the bed.

He went into the bathroom and came back with the shower curtain, leaving the shower completely exposed. He even peeled back some of the padding from one section of wall, exposing the bare concrete underneath.

The whole time, Dr. Wallace just stood there watching me with this disappointed expression. He looked at me like I was a child who’d misbehaved.

When his father finished stripping the room, they both left without saying a word. Now I had nothing except the bed frame, the thin mattress, the toilet, and the mini fridge.

The room felt even more like a cell than before. I sat on the bare mattress and tried not to cry because I knew they were watching.

Then I heard a crackling sound and his mother’s voice came through the room so clear it made me jump. I looked around trying to figure out where it was coming from and finally spotted a small speaker mounted in the corner near the camera.

I’d never noticed it before because it blended into the wall. Her voice sounded sad and disappointed like she was talking to a troubled teenager.

She said they were very disappointed in my behavior and these privileges would be returned when I proved I could be trusted. She said they only wanted what was best for me and the baby.

” “Your actions today showed you still wasn’t taking this pregnancy seriously.” ” She said.

The speaker crackled off and I was alone again with just the camera watching. Two days went by with nothing but meals through the slot and silence.

Then I heard footsteps on the stairs and my boyfriend appeared outside the door. I could see through the small window in the door that he’d been crying.

His eyes were red and puffy, and he kept wiping at his face. He sat down on the floor right outside the door and just looked at me for a minute without saying anything.

Finally he told me his parents were talking about keeping me here for the entire pregnancy and maybe even longer. He said they wanted to make sure I’d bonded with the baby properly and wouldn’t try to run once I gave birth.

I asked him how he could possibly let them do this to me and to our baby. He started crying harder and put his head in his hands.

He said he was scared of his parents and what they might do if he tried to help me. He said they’d always been this way, controlling every part of his and Gary’s lives.

He told me that when Gary tried to leave with Marilyn before their daughter was born, his parents threatened to report them both for kidnapping the baby. They said they’d tell the police that Gary and Marilyn were unstable and dangerous and trying to take their grandchild away from them.

Gary backed down because he was terrified of losing his daughter completely. I watched my boyfriend cry and felt nothing but anger toward him.

He was a coward who’d helped trap me here, and now he was crying about being scared. But then he did something I didn’t expect.

He looked around carefully like he was checking if anyone was listening. Then he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

He slipped it under the door quickly. He told me in a whisper that Marilyn sometimes visited with their daughter.

He said she might be able to help me somehow. Then he got up and left before I could ask him anything else.

I grabbed the paper and unfolded it. It had a phone number written on it and a note in his handwriting.

” “This is Marilyn’s number and she understands what you are going through.” ” The note read.

I looked at the camera and knew they’d seen him pass me the paper if they were watching. I had to hide it somewhere they wouldn’t find.

I folded it up as small as I could and tucked it into my underwear. It was the only place they’d never searched.

Three days passed with no mention of the paper from his parents, so maybe they hadn’t been watching that moment. I started to hear new voices upstairs—a woman and a child.

Through the small window, I could hear them in the backyard. The child was calling someone mama, and I heard his mother’s voice answering.

Then I heard his grandmother fussing over them both. It was that same cheerful tone she used to use with me.

Later that day, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and the door unlocked. A woman walked in and I knew immediately this was Marilyn.

She looked like she was in her late 20s, but her eyes looked older, tired. She had dark circles under them and her shoulders slumped like she was carrying something heavy.

She glanced at the camera then looked at me. I saw everything in her face—the defeat, the resignation, the deep exhaustion of someone who’d fought and lost.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and told me quietly that fighting them only made everything worse. She said if I just cooperated and did what they wanted, they’d eventually let me have a kind of normal life like she had now.

I stared at her and asked why she didn’t just leave right now and take her daughter with her. She looked down at her hands.

She explained that his parents had spent two years convincing everyone in their church and their whole community that she’d had serious mental health problems during her pregnancy. They told everyone she’d been suicidal and unstable and they’d kept her safe until she got better.

Now if she tried to leave and take her daughter, they’d use that whole made-up history against her. They’d tell the courts she was mentally ill and dangerous and they’d take her daughter away from her legally.

She said she’d thought about running so many times, but she couldn’t risk losing her child completely. At least this way she got to be with her daughter even if it meant living under their control.

I asked her how she survived two years in this room. She looked down at her left arm, slowly rolling up her sleeve.

There was a thick scar running from her wrist halfway to her elbow. It looked like it had healed badly without proper medical care.

She told me she tried to escape twice during her imprisonment. The first time they caught her at the top of the basement stairs.

His father dragged her back down and they installed the second lock and the camera blind spot got covered. The second time, she made it all the way to the backyard before his father tackled her from behind.

She was six months pregnant then and when she fell, she tried to catch herself with her left arm. His father grabbed that same arm and twisted it behind her back until she heard the bone crack.

She was screaming about the baby, and he told her this was to prevent her from hurting the baby with her reckless behavior. They didn’t take her to a hospital because that would raise questions.

Instead, they had Dr. Wallace come set the bone in the basement. She spent the rest of her pregnancy with her arm in a cast that the doctor changed every few weeks.

After that, she realized survival meant submission because they would hurt her in ways that didn’t threaten the baby directly. She pulled her sleeve back down and I could see her hand shaking.

Before she left, she moved closer and whispered that my only real chance was if someone from outside noticed I was missing and investigated. ” “Once you’re inside their system they have too much control and too many lies already established. They’ve spent years building relationships with their church and their community and everyone believes their devoted grandparents who would never hurt anyone.” ” She said.

She squeezed my hand hard and her eyes filled with tears. She said she was sorry she couldn’t help me more, but if she tried they’d take her daughter away and she couldn’t lose her baby.

Then she stood up and walked to the door and knocked twice. His father unlocked it from outside and she went back upstairs to her daughter without looking back at me.

The Final Stand and the Road to Justice

The days blurred together after that visit. I started noticing changes in my body that meant I was entering my second trimester.

The nausea got worse in the mornings and I was so tired I could barely stay awake between meals. My stomach was showing more obviously now and I couldn’t hide the pregnancy anymore even if I wanted to.

Dr. Wallace came for his weekly visit and spent extra time with the ultrasound equipment. He was measuring things and taking notes.

He seemed pleased with everything he saw. He told his parents through the open door that the baby was right on track for development.

His mother clapped her hands together and came down to see the ultrasound screen. She pointed at the tiny form and cooed about how perfect everything looked.

His father stood at the top of the stairs watching and nodding with approval. The doctor packed up his equipment and reminded them about the nutrition plan he’d written up.

He said the second trimester was critical for brain development. After they all left, I lay on the bed and felt the baby move for the first time.

It was just a tiny flutter that made me start crying. This should have been a happy moment, but instead I was trapped in a basement prison.

A few days later, his mother brought my lunch tray and she was annoyed about something. She set the food down harder than usual.

” “That woman from my work wouldn’t stop calling my phone.” ” She muttered.

” “Kira had called six times yesterday alone and twice already this morning leaving messages asking where I was and if I was okay.” ” She said.

I felt this surge of hope shoot through my chest because someone was actually looking for me. They weren’t believing whatever story they’d been told.

His mother noticed my expression and her face got hard. She told me not to get any ideas because they’d already handled the work situation and everyone believed I was on medical leave.

But I could hear the worry in her voice under the anger. I knew Kira was causing problems for their plan.