The Dogs in Heat and the No-Standards Man
Let’s be real—Jay and her friends acted like damn dogs in heat. No morals. No shame. And RA? That man had zero standards. If a chick had a slit and opened her legs, he was down. No questions, no hesitation. And that devil woman Cory? She was no exception.
Within a week, she went from fake-smiling in my face and telling me I needed to dump him—as if I wasn’t his wife, the mother of his four kids—to straight-up violating our home. She dropped a damn titty Polaroid in our mailbox. And not a regular mailbox, either—one of those old-school ones with a slot that lets the mail fall straight into the house. Guess who found it? Not me. Not RA. Our oldest child—who was five at the time—picked up that x-rated photo off the damn floor.
I told RA from the start: that chick was gonna bring nothing but trouble if he didn’t keep his dumbass away from her. But did he listen? Hell no. He was a young, horny idiot thinking with his dick instead of his head—or his damn heart.
The Rollercoaster Begins: Jail Lies, Threesomes, and the Final Breaking Point
And then the damn rollercoaster started.
One night, RA just didn’t come home. I packed up the kids and went to my grandparents’. Started calling around—first stop was the jailhouse. They said, “Nope, haven’t seen him. But tell him we said hi—and he’s got a warrant.” Called the hospitals next—nothing. Nowhere. Radio silence.
When he finally showed up, he fed me a bullshit story about just getting out of jail. I hit him with, “Oh really? Because they said they haven’t seen you, said to tell you hi, and oh yeah—there’s a damn warrant out for your arrest.” His face dropped. Caught.
We were 19. Married. Three kids. Both broken as hell. Both pissed off at the world—me for losing a parent, him the same. And the other parents? Absent. We were neck-deep in hard drugs, drowning in anger, abuse, cheating, and all-around chaos.
At one point, in the middle of all that mess, he convinced me to have a threesome with Jay. I figured, fine—if this keeps him from cheating and gets him to chill, I’ll try it. And somehow, we ended up moving in with Jay. We had our own room, but most nights we ended up in hers. I’ll give her this—Jay knew what she was doing in bed. She had to. With a face like that, she better be damn good in something or she’d be alone forever. Yeah, yeah—women should empower each other and all that. But I’m just being honest. Like I had already mentioned, my husband had no standards back than.
Then came October 2002.
Cory—the devil in dollar store lipstick—drove by our house, screaming and cussing like the white trash she is, but didn’t stop. Of course not. She had no balls. But she had the audacity to call the cops on me for harassment. I got arrested—but not for that. It was for an old warrant. RA got arrested too.
Jay only had enough money to bond one of us out—and she picked me. Because I’m the mom to the three kids she suddenly decided to be a part-time stepmom to, and my bond was lower. And RA? He wouldn’t have let me sit in jail either, if the roles were reversed. Sometimes, when he wasn’t a total asshole, he was a good man.
But when he got out a week later, someone told him I’d been out in the streets, screwing around with other dudes. Total lie. One—I was terrified of him. Two—if I wanted to do anything, I had Jay right there. But truthfully? I was pregnant again and too damn focused on our three babies and surviving.
He didn’t believe me.
Not his wife. Not the mother of his kids.
That beating he gave me? That was the last one I was ever taking.
I won’t go into details—but that night still haunts me. I walked out of that room, straight to Jay, and said, “I’m done. After my interview tomorrow, I’m not coming back.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’ll be back.”
But I wasn’t.
After that interview, I crossed the bridge, made a right instead of a left, and walked straight into the courthouse. Filed for a restraining order. Then the cops escorted me to that house so I could grab my babies and my stuff. And just like that—I was out. I went straight to Haven House. And I never looked back.
The Lies, the Return, and Jay’s Wake-Up Call
But truth is—I did look back. More than once.
We actually tried to fix things. I thought maybe, just maybe, we were getting somewhere. I wanted to believe he could change. That we could get our family back on track.
Then Jay showed up at the Haven House. Her car packed with all her stuff, one eye shining black and blue. I guess she was dumb enough to think he’d be different with her. Like he wasn’t going to turn on her the same way. That’s when she dropped the real bomb.
She told me RA had been sleeping with Cory the whole damn time. Leaving Jay at home alone, acting like he was working or whatever. And Cory? According to Jay, she’d already had one abortion that was his and was pregnant again with another one of his kids. How true the abortion part is—I don’t know and don’t give a damn. But I do know this: she’s had more than one. Because Cory never wanted kids.
The four she does have? One was from her first marriage, and the other three are RA’s. She made the men raise them alone. And let me be clear: yeah, she was in the house with the younger three, but that’s only because RA promised her she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. That he’d do it all. That was the deal—keep the baby, and he’d be the main parent.
But like I told him back in 2022—she didn’t even raise her oldest daughter. So what the hell kind of mother did he really expect her to be?
The Day I Let Him Feel It
When Jay showed up at the Haven House, I was actually waiting on RA. We had planned to take the kids to the park, talk things out, just hang out like we used to. I thought maybe we still had a chance to be a family.
But then I stepped inside and called my best friend—he had just gotten home from basic training. And right as he pulled up and I was climbing into his truck, RA came walking up.
I didn’t say a damn word.
I just looked at him and got in the truck.
That moment—the confusion and sadness on his face? It’s seared into my brain. Forever. That was the first time he really saw what it looked like when I chose someone else. And truth is, RA could never handle getting even a taste of the shit he’d been dishing out for years.
My best friend BG? He got out and went to talk to him. I didn’t ask what was said, and BG never told me. Didn’t need to. That moment spoke for itself.
Off and on through my pregnancy with our last baby, RA would still pop up. He’d show up, we’d have sex, and then he’d head back to her—Cory. And every single time, I’d walk to the pay phone, call her, and describe exactly what he was wearing and which way he walked off.
Yeah—I told her everything.
She wasn’t the one he wanted. I was. And if I’d asked, he’d have left her in a hot damn minute. And he did, once.
But that miserable cunt called welfare on us. More than once. Tried to ruin us. And every time, she tried to put the blame on his mother. And RA? He should’ve known better. But he was a fool when it came to her. Always believing the one person he barely knew over the people who had been there for him from the start.
The End of That Chapter—and the Start of Me
Looking back now, I stayed way too long. I gave too many chances. I let my heart and history blind me to what was right in front of me: a man who couldn’t grow up, and women who thrives on chaos.
RA wasn’t evil. He was just weak. A man who never figured out how to be one. Someone who let his trauma control him instead of doing the work to heal. I loved him—God, did I love him—but I couldn’t keep setting myself on fire to keep him warm.
And Jay? Cory? They were just different shades of the same dysfunction. Jay got dragged down just like I did, thinking he’d treat her better. Cory was always just a manipulative, bitter shell of a woman who only wanted control. She didn’t love him—she wanted to win.
But none of them won. Not really.
Because I’m the one who finally got out.
I took the beatings, the lies, the betrayals, the constant instability—and I still stood up. I left. I started over. I chose peace over patterns. I chose my kids and myself. And no matter what anyone says, that’s power.
This is the truth. Not the pretty version. Not the sugar-coated version. Just real life from a woman who’s been through hell and still came out swinging.
So to anyone reading this—whether you’re in your own toxic loop or thinking you’re too far gone to leave: you’re not. It’s never too late to take your power back. It’s never too late to stop being the one who always forgives and start being the one who finally walks away.