Chapter 11: The Last Chapter

Sis, I have to be honest.

May was my birthday month. And I can’t even lie to you—I’ve spent the last 13 birthdays with Cipher. Whether physically, psychologically, or emotionally… his presence was always there. Like a shadow. A dark cloud that hovered over my life. His energy, his voice, his control—it lingered.

But this year, I turned 30. And for the first time in my entire life, I felt free.
Free, safe, human.
A person with a personality. A voice. A purpose. A right to choose. A right to exist.
This year, I refused to let my past sit at the table with me.

For once, I’ve been living in the present. Because I’ve spent too much of my life trapped in the past— In regret over my choices. In sadness about the outcome of every decision I made since I was 17. “If only I had been a good daughter and listened to my parents…” “If only I went away to college…” “If only I had left Cipher the first time he hurt me, or even when I saw those huge, loud, red flags…”

And when I wasn’t spending time regretting my past; I was surviving for the future—the place I hid when the present hurt too much.
Wishing for safety. Dreaming of better. Anticipating the life I’m finally living now.

And Sis, I’ll be real with you—I almost gave up on this blog.
That voice inside me whispered:
“Why am I even doing this?”
“Who really cares?”
“Why keep revisiting pain when I should be enjoying the peace I worked my butt off to earn?”

The PTSD has been overwhelming; the revisiting of my past and choosing to write about it has been triggering.

But then… today, I ran into someone. Someone I’d like to call a friend.
And they reminded me why stories like mine—like ours—matter. Even when they’re hard to tell. Even when they’re hard to hear. Because telling them heals. Telling them helps someone else. And telling them… sets us free.

So let’s jump right into it…

This is the last chapter of that horror story.
The final page before I can finally share my new life—
A life that is amazing, beautiful, and most importantly, safe.

And what’s even better?
I get to share with you how I got here.

Through self-help blog posts, love letters, and daily encouragement. I plant to pour back into us—the survivors, the fighters, the dreamers. I have the honor of sharing all that I’ve learned and all I continue to learn in hopes that
my happy ending will remind you that happy endings do exist.

I am a living testament to that— In more ways than you could ever imagine.

So… where were we?

Oh right.
The police banging on my front door. Cipher acting like the wild animal that he is out on the patio. And my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

I remember slowly opening the door.

“Hi ma’am, we had a noise complaint. Is everything okay?”

Now, I know what you’re thinking:
TELL THEM EVERYTHING!

But in that moment… I froze. Solid. Like ice.

But if I’m being real— It wasn’t just Cipher that made me freeze.

It was them. The uniforms. The authority. The weight of their presence at my door. Their fist’s banging on my door rattled my soul. It made me so uneasy. There’s just something about being a black woman around the police that I can’t shake.

They scare me.

Not because I’ve done anything wrong. But because history has taught me that existing while black and vulnerable can be and typically is dangerous. I’ve seen too many stories that don’t end well. And I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and lose my kids.
In that moment, survival meant silence… again.

With the softest voice that I could muster I stuttered, “Um… everything is not okay. I think my children’s father had too much to drink, and we got into a disagreement. He just… he needs to go home and rest.”

A part of me hoped the two officers would catch on to what I was really trying to say. What I wanted to say was,

“Get this demonic drunk-ass psycho maniac out of here!”

My eyes were screaming it, my energy was pleading for it—but the words just wouldn’t come. The officer asked me to step outside and explain more about what was happening, and so I did what I was told. While I spoke with one of the officers, the other went into the house to the patio to bring Cipher outside and get his side of the story. All I could do was hope that maybe, just maybe, the truth would finally come out.

Before I could even get to the root of the issue, I heard Cipher speaking to the officer, calm and manipulative as always: “That’s my wife. I caught her cheating on me. I know I was wrong for yelling, but I’m just hurt. This is my home. I’m on the lease—I’m not leaving.”

Then the officer came back to me and asked, “Ma’am, is what he’s saying true?”

That’s when I’d had enough. “First of all,” I said, “I’m not his wife. We are not legally married. Secondly, I wasn’t cheating on him—we’re not together. He’s been following me for days, weeks even. Yes, his name is on the lease because we did live here together at one point. But he now has his own place. He hasn’t lived here in well over a month. The new home is still under construction so I will be living here with our children until the lease expires. Alone.”

Then the officer looked at me and said the words I’ll never forget: “Well ma’am, if his name is on the lease, we can’t force him to leave.”

Sis… can I pause for a second and can we TALK?! Like really talk?! Because I couldn’t believe the mess I was hearing. I mean, seriously—I wish I was making this sh*t up. I wish I could sit here and be like, “Y’all, don’t worry. Just call the police, they’ll fix everything. The justice system is your friend!” HA! What a cute little fairy tale that would be.

Let’s all hold hands and pretend the system works, right? Let’s imagine a world where officers show up, actually listen to the woman trembling in front of them, read between the lines of her shaking voice, her teary eyes, her energy SCREAMING for help—and, oh, I don’t know—do something to protect her. But no… instead, we get the real-life horror version. The “Sorry ma’am, his name’s on the lease so he has the right to terrorize you” version.

The system? Oh baby, it’s not just broken. It’s cracked, collapsed, and collecting dust somewhere next to all the missing empathy reports they must’ve filed in Never Gonna Help You-ville. The whole thing is a bad joke—and guess who’s the punchline? Us women. And more often than not… BLACK woman.

So yeah—trust the police? Have faith in the system? Not today. Not ever. Miss me with that nonsense.

All I could think about in that moment were all the times Cipher told me the law would always protect him. That he would always have access to me. That I was “his baby mother,” like I was some kind of property. And he was right. No one believed me. My safety didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. That realization shattered something in me—but it also woke something up.

That moment changed me forever. And in my honest opinion? It’s the kind of eye-opening, rock-bottom moment that every woman in an abusive situation eventually has to face. The moment when the fog clears and you finally see it all for what it really is—not just the abuse, but the entire illusion. That someone is coming to save you. That if you just hold on long enough, someone—anyone—will step in and fix it. But no. That moment taught me the truth: no one was coming. Not my parents. Not my friends. Not some new man. Not my coworkers. And definitely not the law. The only person that can save you… is yourself. You’re the only one who knows the real way out!

You just have to trust yourself so you can get there.

And as heartbreaking as that realization was… it unlocked a version of me I didn’t even know existed. Something clicked. It was like a light switch flipped. I stood there in silence—seconds that felt like hours—until finally, I spoke. Calm. Controlled. Unshaken. “Okay, officer. That’s fine. You’re right—he doesn’t have to leave. Let him stay. I’ll go. But just so you know, he’s been drinking, and that car outside? It’s in my name. I’d like to take the keys to make sure he doesn’t drive intoxicated. I just need to grab a few things.”

Cipher’s face twisted with shock, disgust, and anger. He snapped, “She can’t leave. She doesn’t have anywhere to go! Where you gonna go, Indo? She doesn’t even know anyone here. We’re not from here!” And then, suddenly trying to play the hero, he said, “Never mind—I’ll go. She needs to stay here.” But the officer shut that down quickly. “No sir, you need to stay here,” he said. Then he turned to me. “Ma’am, go ahead and grab what you need. Here—take the keys.”

I ran inside, collected a few essentials, took the car keys, got into my car, and drove off into the night. And sis, let me be honest with you—I didn’t have anywhere to go. Sure, I could’ve gone to Samantha’s place where my girls were, but I couldn’t let them see me like that. I needed a moment to collect myself. Besides, she lived in the same complex, and it would’ve been too easy for Cipher to find me and keep harassing me. So instead, I drove to the 24-hour Walmart. I parked, climbed into the back seat, and cried myself to sleep. Right there. In a Walmart parking lot.

And let me tell you something: if that doesn’t turn you into a beast, I don’t know what will.

In the months that followed, I moved out of that old apartment Cipher and I once shared. I started focusing on myself—my work, my children, rebuilding my spirit, and surrounding myself with people who loved me right. I built a support network, stretching from Miami all the way back home to New York. I was slowly piecing myself back together, one act of self-love at a time.

And Sis… I really did try. I tried to co-parent with Cipher. I gave it everything I had. I tried it all. Parenting directly, parenting indirectly through nannies and friends. Parenting without the system involved. And when that went to shit I resulted to Parenting with the system involved just ended in Cipher fleeing the state and moving to California. If you named it…I tried it.

The truth about co-parenting with a narcissist is that it will drain you. It will confuse you. It will have you second-guessing your reality, your boundaries, and your worth—all over again. Just when you think you’ve escaped the chaos, they find a new way to pull you back in.

Cipher didn’t want to co-parent unless it meant control—unless it came with access to me. He only offered help with the children on his terms. And those terms? Always included sex, or some form of “relationship” that benefited him. It was never about the kids. It was about power. About possession.

And I won’t lie— times were hard and I was desperate, I gave in. I’d send nude photos—what he called “spanks”—in exchange for money. I would use it to pay the babysitter so I could work or grocery money. I told myself that if I was going to live in Miami, the city of sex, I should sell what I had. At least that way, my daughters wouldn’t suffer. At least they’d be provided for.

But after almost a year, I finally began to wake up. I realized this wasn’t survival—it was bondage. Living at Cipher’s mercy just to get help with our kids wasn’t right.
It wasn’t fair. Not to them. And certainly not to me.

How could I ever truly move on?
How could I build a real love life, a family, a future—if I was still emotionally and sexually tied to the very man who once broke me?

After many more failed attempts to make our co-parenting relationship work, even with my newfound awareness, I had to face the truth: it wasn’t going to happen. Not for the girls’ sake. Not for peace. Not for the hope of normalcy.
Not in Miami.

Even though Cipher and I weren’t together, he still had me in a vulnerable, isolated state. I was stuck in a cycle that looked like survival but felt like quiet suffocation. I needed to make a hard—but necessary—choice. One that would give my daughters, and myself, the life we deserved—one rooted in security, love, unconditional support… and family.

So, I made one of the hardest, yet clearest, decisions of my life: I packed up and moved back home to New York.

I needed a stronger support system. We needed a stronger support system. We needed space to breathe. A place to feel safe. A place where I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder… or walking on emotional eggshells.

Because choosing peace isn’t always easy—but it’s necessary.

Especially when little lives are depending on you to make the hard choices—the right choices—the ones that will shape the world they grow up in.

Leaving Miami was more than just a change of location—it was a lifeline.

It gave me the space I needed to breathe, to think clearly, and most importantly… to heal.
The decision to go no contact with Cipher didn’t come easily. As a mother, I wrestled with guilt, fear, and questions about what was “best” for my children. But once he began speaking poorly of me to them—planting seeds of confusion, disrespect, and pain—I knew I had to protect not only myself, but them too.

Cutting off communication wasn’t out of spite—it was out of necessity.
And it became one of the most important decisions I’ve ever made on my healing journey.

Since moving back to New York, it’s been over two years—and I can honestly say I’ve never felt safer, happier, more grounded, or more me. My thoughts are clearer. My heart is lighter. My home is peaceful. And my children? They are thriving in a stable environment filled with love, consistency, and security.

The blog photo for this post is a visual reminder of just how far I’ve come. A before-and-after: one image of me in Miami, and one of me now. The difference is visible. Healing isn’t just mental and emotional—it shows up physically too. When you’re living in survival mode, in a toxic or abusive environment, your body carries it. Even if you try to ignore it—your health, your skin, your energy—it all tells the truth.

As I continue this journey, I’m shifting the focus of this blog. While I’ll always share my story, I want to dive deeper into the how of healing:

• The power of going no contact with an abusive ex.
• How to support your children through separation from a toxic parent.
• What it looks like to reclaim your identity and your narrative.
• Healthy lifestyle choices that support mental clarity and emotional strength.
• Conscious parenting guidance for survivors.
• Finding love after abuse.
• How to navigate healthy relationships.
• And more tools, truths, and testimonies from a life rebuilt with intention.

This next chapter is for the woman who’s choosing herself—maybe for the first time.
It’s for the mother navigating hard decisions with trembling hands but a steady heart.
It’s for the survivor who’s tired of surviving—and ready to thrive.

Let’s walk it together.

A Note to My Supporters:

If you made it this far with me—sis, I commend you.
Thank you for walking with me through the raw, the real, and the rising.

Your presence here means more than you know. Whether you’ve been silently reading, sharing your own story, or just rooting for me from the sidelines—I see you, I feel you, and I appreciate you deeply.
Your support reminds me that I’m not alone. That we are not alone.

This space isn’t just mine—it’s ours. A place where truth can live, healing can happen, and sisterhood can grow. I thank you for holding space with me, for believing in transformation, and for being part of this journey.

I love you. I honor your heart. And I can’t wait to keep growing with you.

With love and light,
Indo, your good sis.