MY HUSBAND KICKED OUT MY BABY AND WOMB

By Nankwanga Eunice Kasirye
When Love Turns Violent: "The Night I Lost My Baby—and My Womb" Adriane

“…

He kicked me in the stomach. I remember the pain—sharp, tearing, immediate—before everything went silent. I crashed against the edge of the table, and then darkness swallowed me whole. The next thing I knew, I was on a hospital bed, a blood transfusion drip trailing from my arm. My head was pounding like thunder in a storm. I didn’t know where I was or what had happened. Then I heard my sister’s voice, trembling but soft, calling my name. She stroked my arm, her eyes red with tears. That’s when she told me: I had lost my baby... and my womb. The doctors had done everything to save me, but I had lost too much blood.” she relays her pain

Adriane is a survivor of violence against women. And one of the few brave enough to tell her story.

Her pain didn’t begin with a punch. It started with words. Small ones. Repeated ones. Disguised as love.

“It began with him complaining about me working late,” she recalls. “At first, I thought he was just being concerned. Protective, even. I didn’t see it for what it really was—a warning sign.”

Adriane, a professional woman and mother of three, had agreed with her husband that they would only have four children—and wait until their youngest turned four before planning for the fourth. But her husband broke the agreement. Just a year after their third child was born, he pressured her into another pregnancy.

“We argued. I told him I wasn’t ready,” she says. “But I gave in eventually. I told myself it was okay. I made peace with the decision—for the sake of the family.”

Three months into the pregnancy, the subtle emotional manipulation shifted into overt control.

“He started demanding I quit my job. He’d lock me in the bedroom in the morning so I’d miss work. And when I insisted on going, he began accusing me of having affairs with my colleagues,” Adriane explains. “He said I was sleeping with someone at the office—that I was bringing shame to our home.”

She tried to dismiss his accusations, thinking they were the usual bursts of jealousy. But the control kept tightening.

Then came the night that would change her life forever.

“One Friday, I got stuck in traffic. I left work at 6:15 p.m. but didn’t reach home until almost 8. I called to let him know I was delayed. I thought that would be enough.”

It wasn’t.

“When I reached home, he was standing at the door. Silent. Cold. He took my handbag, held my wrist tightly, and led me into the house. He locked the door. I turned to greet him, but before I could speak, he slapped me hard. Then—without warning—he kicked me in the stomach.”

Her voice breaks. Her eyes well up. Even now, five years later, the pain of that moment lives in her body.

“I don’t remember anything after that. Only the hospital. Only the blood. Only the loss.”

Adriane’s recovery was not just physical—it was emotional, mental, and spiritual. In the days that followed, her aunt and mother-in-law sat her down—not to offer comfort, but to deliver a chilling instruction.

“They told me not to speak about it,” she says. “They said, ‘Every woman goes through hardship in marriage. Some have suffered worse. You must persevere. Do not shame the family.’”

Her husband never apologized. Not once. Instead, he turned the blame on her.

“If only you had quit your job,” he told her. “None of this would have happened.”

Adriane was left to carry the weight of the violence, the grief of her unborn child, and the devastating knowledge that she would never have another baby again. Her body was broken, but her spirit began to rise.

“When I was strong enough, I walked away,” she says. “I left everything—the marriage, the house, the expectations. I faced judgment from my family and his. They called me a disgrace. But I had to choose my life. I had already lost too much.”

Violence Against Women: The Statistics Behind the Silence

Adriane’s story is not rare. It’s not isolated. And it’s not over.

Violence against women is not a myth or a matter of opinion—it is a human rights crisis. According to the UN Women Global Database on Violence Against Women, 1 in 3 women worldwide—about 736 million—have experienced physical or sexual violence, most often by an intimate partner (UN Women, 2021).

Half of those cases involve repeated abuse, often normalized within the home. And the silence is deafening.

In Uganda, the 2016 Uganda Demographic and Health Survey (UDHS) revealed that 56% of ever-married women aged 15–49 had experienced physical, sexual, or emotional violence by a husband or partner. Even more disturbingly, 22% of them reported that the abuse began during pregnancy.

In many communities, violence by a husband is not even recognized as a crime. Instead, it’s disguised as discipline. Wrapped in culture. Protected by silence.

But behind every number is a name. Behind every statistic is a story like Adriane’s—a woman, a life, a future interrupted.

Adriane could have remained silent. She could have carried her pain quietly like so many women are taught to do. But she spoke. And in her voice, we hear the truth:

Violence against women is not just a social issue. It is a personal tragedy. A national shame. A global emergency.

And the time to break the silence is now.