A Heartfelt Plea from a Mother, a Survivor, a Daughter

Please read my story. I leave it up to you to decide if I deserve your help.

Dear kind souls,

I’m writing to you with trembling hands and a heart full of pain — but also full of hope. I know we all have struggles, and I would never ask for help unless I truly had no other choice.

A few years ago, I came to America on a fiancée visa. I was 30, full of dreams, full of love, and full of hope to finally build a real family. My first marriage had ended painfully — I was left alone with a small child, and I thought this new beginning in America was my second chance.

The man I came to marry promised me safety, love, and a future. Over the phone, we chose the color of the room that was supposed to be mine — a soft, warm place where I could feel at home. But when I arrived, nothing was as he promised. I didn’t speak English. I had no friends. My daughter had to stay behind — and I came alone.

After we married, everything changed.

He yelled, insulted, degraded me. Every day.

I would wait for him with a smile, warm food, kindness… and in return, he’d scream that I was nothing. That he could call the police and have me deported any moment.

Sometimes, he’d be sweet again — whisper kind words — and I would hope maybe today would be different. But it never was. Every night, he threatened to throw me out. And every night, I cried myself to sleep.

When my daughter finally joined me after two long years, I thought he would change. I thought he’d at least be kind in front of her. But nothing changed. One day, she looked at me and asked:

“Mommy, why is that man so mean to you?”

I had no answer. That night, I cried more than ever.

One day, after yet another round of screaming and threats, I said the words I had been too afraid to say:

“Okay. Divorce me. I’m leaving.”

I fled to another state with nothing. No money. No English. No job. Just fear.

I was terrified — that he would find me and hurt me. I couldn’t stop crying. I went to the hospital because I couldn’t breathe from the panic. Doctors put me on strong medication. I stayed on it for years.

I’ve worked so hard to survive. I studied and became a home health aide, caring for elderly people with dignity and love. I work every day. I contribute to this country. But I’m barely surviving.

Because of the move, the trauma, and having to start over from zero, I’m still drowning in debt. Every month is a battle to pay rent and bills.

Now, I’m reaching out — not for luxury, not for comfort, but for something so deeply human:

To see my parents again.

It’s been many years. They are elderly, very sick, and long to see their daughter and granddaughter one last time. I don’t know how much longer they have. My daughter misses them terribly — we have no one here. Just each other.

The trip to my home country is expensive — not just the tickets, but the cost of still paying rent and bills here while I’m away, and not being able to work during that time.

I need help.

Not much from each person — even $50 could make a real difference.

Please don’t give your last — only if your heart and means allow.

But if you do choose to help, you are giving a daughter the chance to hug her mother. A granddaughter the chance to know her roots. A woman the chance to believe in kindness again.

If you donate, please leave your name. I will pray for you. I will never forget you.

After all I’ve survived, I carry so much pain and fear.

So many nights, I’ve asked myself:

“If the world only hurts me… why should I keep going?”

But then I remember: I have a child. I must keep going.

I just need a little help. A little hope. A little faith in humanity again.

From the depths of my soul — thank you for reading my story.

With love and all my heart,

A mother,

A daughter,

A survivor.