Pregnant then slashed by fiance!
Charlene in hospital after the attack
Thursday 15th May 2008
My boyfriend, Alan Bryan, frowned in concentration as he watched my daughter, Destiny.
'It's easy,' she insisted, sticking down the tabs on her doll's nappy.
'I don't know if I'll get the hang of this,' he laughed.
I put my hands over my barely-there bump.
'Good job you have five months to practise,' I said.
It was July 2007 and I was four months pregnant. Alan, 43, was a first-time dad, so he was trying to learn some baby skills. In truth, when I'd first told him I was expecting, he'd looked shocked.
'Is it because we haven't been together long?' I'd asked. After all, we'd only met four months earlier, in January. But we'd fallen in love, and Destiny, 7, and I had moved into his two-bedroom flat after just three months.
'It's not that,' Alan had replied. 'I'm just worried I won't make a good dad.'
Typical Alan. The reason I'd fallen for him was his thoughtful nature. For the first time in my life, I was with someone who'd open the door for me and buy me flowers. The first few times I'd stayed at his, he'd even let me have his bed while he slept on the settee. He was great with Destiny, too.
'You'll be a brilliant dad,' I'd reassured him.
I don't think he believed me until I was three months gone, in June 2007, and we went for my scan.
'Is that the heartbeat?' he asked, as a gentle whoosh filled the room.
'It's a boy,' the nurse said.
A smile crept across Alan's face.
'My son,' he said, choked.
We decided on a name, Seth Coramac. And after that, Alan was a changed man. He came shopping with me for Babygros and buried himself in my pregnancy books.
A week later, we told Destiny the news.
'Hello, baby brother,' she'd say to my bump each morning.
Then, the afternoon after Alan's nappy-changing lesson, I came in from taking Destiny to the park.
'Seth's kicking like mad,' I told Alan.
'Hmm,' he said, not even looking up from his World Of WarCraft computer game. What's he got the hump about? I thought, stalking off into the other room. We didn't speak again until teatime.
'What do you fancy for dinner?' I asked him.
'Can't you decide?' he snapped. 'Or are you stupid?'
What on earth…?
Alan had never lost his temper before. Even Destiny looked confused. And when, an hour later, at 8pm, Alan stormed off to the computer again, after telling me to shut up, I was worried. Is this our first row? Not wanting to take any chances, I packed a bag for Destiny and drove her to her dad Larry Labelle's house.
'Can she stop here tonight?' I asked. 'Alan's in a mood.'
'Of course,' Larry, 38, said.
We'd stayed good friends and I could tell he was concerned.
'It's nothing,' I reassured him. 'I just don't want to argue in front of Destiny.'
By the time I got home, it was 11pm. I could hear Alan in the bedroom, but the door was closed, so I changed into my pyjamas and curled up on the settee with a book.
I'd only read a few pages, when the bedroom door creaked open. Playing it cool, I waited until Alan was standing next to the settee before I looked up.
'Oh my God!' I gasped.
He was looming over me, a crazed look on his face. His arms were raised above his head and in his hands, something glinted. A metal sword. I went to scream. Too late. He swung the sword down, and it sliced through the skin on my chest, drawing blood.
'Please Alan!' I cried. 'Why?'
He brought the sword down again. This time, it sank into my arm and pierced the settee. I screamed in agony, desperately trying to kick him away while protecting my unborn baby. But Alan straddled me, forcing me to lie still and take the blows. He looked like a man possessed. Pain shot through me as he slashed my stomach.
'Not Seth,' I sobbed, reaching down and catching a moist, heavy lump that had tumbled out of the sticky wound.
Alan brought the sword down again and again, through my shoulder and chest, but I felt nothing. I'd gone numb. I'm going to die, I thought. My mind flashed with memories. The sound of Seth's heartbeat at the scan… Destiny teaching Alan to put on a nappy. But then, suddenly, the blows stopped, and Alan walked off to the bedroom. A few minutes later, the front door slammed shut. My vision was turning blurry, but I could see my purple pyjamas were red, and my blood was splattered up the wall. I lay there, gasping for air, as the life drained from me. Then I heard a woman's voice through the open window.
'Are you OK?' she asked.
Using every last ounce of strength, I called out.
'Help! I've been stabbed.'
'I'll get help,' she gasped.
Minutes later, the paramedics arrived. They got to work examining me, while a police officer asked questions.
'What's your name?' he said. 'Who did this to you?'
I murmured the answers, then everything went black.
When I woke up, I was at the Queen Elizabeth II Hospital, Halifax, Nova Scotia.
'She was stabbed 15 times,' I heard a female voice say. 'Her guts fell out and she was holding them when they arrived.'
Is she talking about me? Then it all came crashing back. Alan. The sword. The attack. Blackness overwhelmed me. When I opened my eyes again, my mum, Sandra, 57, and sister, Stephanie, 30, were each holding one of my hands. I was sedated, unable to speak or move, and was soon unconscious again.
It was another three days before I came round properly.
'Mum,' I croaked. 'Is Seth OK?'
'Just worry about getting better, Charlene,' she said.
Believing my baby had survived was the only thing keeping me going, so I didn't push it. Then Stephanie showed me a newspaper report of the attack. Alan had been arrested and charged with attempted murder, aggravated assault, assault with a weapon, and possession of a deadly weapon.
As my strength returned, the police questioned me.
'Had you rowed?' they asked. 'Why did Alan have a sword?'
'I didn't know he had it,' I told them. 'He'd been looking forward to having our son.'
I just couldn't explain it. The gentle, considerate man I'd fallen for had turned into a psycho. After two weeks in hospital, I asked Mum about Seth again.
'I'm sorry, Charlene,' she said gently. 'He didn't survive.'
'No!' I screamed.
The pain was 10 times worse than when the sword had sliced my flesh. That monster took my baby.
'Keep fighting,' Mum said. 'For Destiny's sake.'
My daughter was still with her dad. I felt sick with relief that I'd dropped her off there that night. She'd been told her mummy was in hospital because of an asthma attack, but in reality, I'd had surgery twice to repair bowel and liver damage. My lungs had collapsed, too, and I needed a chest tube to keep me breathing.
In August 2007, a month later, I was discharged, and Mum and Stephanie went to the flat to get my stuff and take it back to Mum's house, over 1,000 miles away in LaSalle, Ontario.
'Please bring the things I bought for Seth,' I begged.
Before going to Mum's, I was reunited with Destiny.
'I missed you, Mummy,' she said, hugging me.
'Alan's a bad man,' I told her. 'But you're safe now.'
Back in LaSalle, Mum had to help me wash, dress and eat, and I'd spend hours in bed, staring at Seth's cot. Why did Alan do it? I wondered, over and over again. Was it because he didn't want our baby? In November 2007, Alan appeared at Dartmouth Provincial Court in Halifax, and pleaded guilty to attempted murder, aggravated assault, assault with a weapon and possession of a dangerous weapon. Apparently, Seth's life didn't count for anything. The court heard Alan had plunged the 2ft sword into me 15 times, piercing every organ except my heart. He'd even planned the attack in a diary.
By the time of the sentencing, ironically on Valentine's Day this year, I was well enough to go to court. I stared at Alan standing there in the dock, and he glared back at me like he didn't give a damn. He got 14 years, but leaving the court, I didn't feel any better. He had given no explanation and no apology. Back home, on 21 February, I packed up Seth's things and gave them to a charity shop. Destiny and I have to move on, but we'll never forget the brother she should have had. Unlike his dad, we loved him very much.
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