Mabel

Some stories stay with me. Not only because they touched me deeply, but because they continue to bother me. What I hope is that people will learn to look more closely.

Holiday – she thought

She travelled to her home country. Together with her husband and their two children. Everything seemed normal: a family holiday. A break from it all. But once they arrived at his family’s home, he changed. He confiscated their passports. Within a day, she was trapped. Literally. She was locked up, abused, and raped every day. What makes her story so poignant is that her husband knew exactly where the boundaries lay in the Netherlands, how the systems worked. And yet he did this. That makes it all the more bitter. He had access to all her information, he knew exactly how to do it.

One chance

What stuck with me is how incredibly sharp this woman remained, despite everything that happened. She was imprisoned, but her mind remained clear. Every time they went to the second house — a  house in the small town — she looked around. She memorised routes, looked for shops, for people, for opportunities. She knew: “If I ever get away, I need to have something. A starting point.” And one day that opportunity came. He took their son to the shop. The door remained open. She fled. Just with her daughter. The boy had to stay behind. She knew he wouldn’t hurt him, but the choice she had to make would haunt her forever. That choice… it breaks my heart to hear it. But she had to choose. She had to fight for her daughter’s freedom, no matter how hard it was. And that choice hurts, every single day.

She touched me deeply. She had such quiet strength, something unyielding. Not loud, but strong inside. She taught me what resilience really means.

Back to the Netherlands

She was able to make a call from a local shop. Her father sent a taxi. She was certain: her husband would not be able to get her there. Not at her father’s house. He had a great deal of influence, but it was not enough to find her there. From that house, the next battle began: returning to the Netherlands. Her residence permit had been revoked, her papers had disappeared. Everything had to be arranged through the LKHA network, through embassies, social workers, lawyers. It was complicated, sensitive, and dangerous. Every step was full of uncertainty, every decision carried risks.

Safe, but not yet free

Once in the Netherlands, she was first placed back in the region where her husband came from. ‘That’s my death sentence,’ she said. At that moment, I felt her pain. How would she manage there? Fortunately, within a week she was transferred to another region.

She found a safe place. And she started helping other women, just as she herself had been helped. But her son… he was still in their home country. She has legal custody, in black and white. But no one is stopping him. The uncertainty, the waiting, the feeling of powerlessness that lingers… It is unbearable.

What I hope for

I remember well how I visited her at the shelter. Sometimes I just want to see someone, to hear how they are doing. She touched me deeply. She had such quiet strength, something unyielding. Not loud, but strong inside. She taught me what resilience really means. She saved one child, but the price was high. She is sometimes seen as “the mother who left her child behind”. That hurts her. Still. ‘If I hadn’t left,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t be here now. And then they would have had no one left.’
What I hope is that people will learn to look more closely. Not to judge immediately, but to ask questions. To listen. Because behind every decision, behind every choice, there is a story that no one sees. She is alive, yes. But she lives with loss. And that loss… no one will ever be able to compensate her for that.