After I finished college in 2011 in Michigan, I started working with someone who immediately caught my attention. To give you a picture, let’s call him “Rico Suave.” He was charismatic, energetic, the life of the party, always ahead at work, always getting promoted, and somehow able to make every woman he met laugh—including me. If you’ve ever met someone like that, you know how easy it is to be swept away, to lose focus on reality, and to let yourself fall headfirst, ignoring everything else in life.
We worked in the same department, and Rico always made himself “the one to talk to.” He was a smooth talker, an excellent listener, and somehow always knew exactly what to say. We began hanging out after work, and alcohol quickly became a constant companion—dinners, nights out, or just hanging out, drinks were always involved. Before I knew it, a year had passed. I looked to him for advice, admired his knowledge, and found myself going out almost every night with someone giving me the attention I had always wanted. My career, my life, my own sense of reality—all blurred. I had fallen hard and couldn’t get back up.
By summer 2012, I was spending nearly every night at his house, drinking daily. On nights I didn’t stay with him, he often wouldn’t answer his phone. “I fell asleep and didn’t hear it ring,” he’d say, but in the back of my mind, I knew better. One night, I came across a receipt for a hot tub event room. When I asked about it, he exploded, shoved me into a corner, and screamed at me for questioning him. That moment began a terrifying pattern: apologizing constantly for anything, believing any problem was my fault because I wasn’t “good enough” for him.
He always kept his phone hidden. One day, after a long day drinking at the beach, I finally asked, “What are you hiding behind that locked screen?” The answer shocked me: on nights he wasn’t responding, he was with other women, treating them exactly as he treated me. When I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, he choked me so hard I could see cracks in the ceiling and wondered if that would be my last sight. Eventually, he let go, and I sobbed in a corner as he apologized for hours, barricading the door to prevent me from leaving. Exhausted, we fell asleep on the floor.
The next morning, he presented me coffee and a lecture on the languages of love, telling me he understood exactly what I needed daily. He promised to leave the other women behind, and I reluctantly agreed, trying to rebuild trust. But months of rebuilding were punctuated by drinking, punches, and bruises I learned to hide. All while we worked together, pretending everything was normal.
By 2013, the abuse had become routine. After arguments, I would apologize, thinking it was my fault, only to have him turn on his charm the next morning—flowers, books, discussions about personal growth and love languages—making it incredibly easy to forget the abuse. One night, drunk and asleep, his phone unlocked, I found proof he was still seeing other women. A long, violent night followed, and I ended up with a broken arm, which kept me off work for six weeks. Those weeks were filled with apologies, self-blame, and physical pain.
When I returned to work, a new employee showed me evidence that he had been seeing someone else while I was recovering. That was the final straw. I left everything at his house and moved to Ohio to live with my brothers, starting fresh. But he reached out, using all the charm he knew would pull me back. One day in Ohio turned into a year of repeated drunken nights, abuse, and broken promises, despite occasional calm periods and fleeting moments of connection.
In 2015, I relocated for a promotion, and he moved with me to Georgia. But the cycle continued—drunken confrontations, arguments, and fear, until 2016 when a terrifying incident with gunshots and police intervention finally forced me to see the full reality. That day was my breaking point. I packed a bag, left him, and started a new life—new apartment, new job, new career. Rico tried to re-enter my life, but I consistently kept him at a distance, refusing to let history repeat.
2016 became a turning point. I met Michael, a hilarious, kind, and loving man who reminded me what joy felt like. We spent weekends together laughing, exploring, and enjoying life. Sharing my past with him, I realized for the first time that the abuse wasn’t my fault, and someone was there to protect me emotionally. Michael showed me what real love looks like, and in 2017, he proposed on Christmas Eve.
Our life together was full of joy, even through challenges. During wedding planning, we faced heartbreak with a miscarriage, but supported each other through grief. On December 31st, 2017, we married surrounded by friends, family, and hope. In 2018, we celebrated our pregnancy, careful and hopeful, and by June 2019, I was eight months along with our rainbow baby.
After 40 hours of labor, on August 9th, 2019, we welcomed our beautiful daughter, Madeline Elizabeth Giberti, weighing 8lb 1oz—a true rainbow after the storm. Through the pain and abuse of my past, I found joy, love, and safety with Michael and our daughter. To anyone reading this, remember: even after the darkest nights, the sun rises, storms pass, and rainbows appear. Speak up, protect yourself, and never lose hope. Everyone deserves a happy ending.
