Part of me still hates my mother for that, for not leaving. The things I've seen when growing up.. Both (her and father) weren't saints, I can't say she's innocent in all that happened. But my father used to (and still does) drink a lot and beat her viciously (doesn't do that any more). She was hospitalized multiple times, bashed to pulp, cut with knives, kicked and dragged, etc and I've witnessed it all. It was horrific.
The thing that gets to me the most is that she never EVER acknowledged her fault in all this AT ALL. Everybody else were guilty: her parents, because they didn't buy her a flat to leave to. Father's parents, because they couldn't control their son (a grown man). Government, because her pay is shit (it's not great, but you can support yourself with it). Etc etc etc.
One thing she said particularly hurt me, though. He came back drunk as always and proceeded to kick the shit out of her. She ran to my room, it was night, I was sleeping. He followed and kept on beating her there with me watching. He's a big man, brutish strong and was in absolute rage. I covered myself with a duvet and just cried, I was very scared.
The next day, my mother called me a 'useless no good bitch', because 'all kids defend their mummies and I didn't do anything, no good coward that I am'. She told me she was ashamed of me. She phoned father's mother, my grandma, and told her the same, that I didn't defend her, and she hates me for it. I was about 7 years old at that time! I was so scared! When I grew up, I told her that it wasn't my duty to protect her, it was HER duty to protect ME, her little child!
She always said she did it 'for the kids'. The reality is, she did it for the money. My father's a rich man. And she loved the houses, the cars, the holidays, furs, jewellery more than she loved her kids. THAT'S WHY.
When I left home, I moved in with my (then) partner. Everything was ok, we were together for a few years. Until one night after a party we argued. We both were drunk, but that doesn't change things. He slapped my face and everything came back to me in a flashback, all the shit I've seen. It made me unnaturally mad, sent me in such rage that I almost killed him (no exaggeration). I left the very same night, called a taxi, drunk and all, and just left, went to friend's house. Next day I came to collect my stuff and never went back.
I like to rub my mother's nose in that story. She's (begrudgingly) in awe that I didn't take any shit and had the balls and determination to just up and leave. She said, she should have done the same. However, no one's stopping her now. No small kids, it's just her and him in the house. He doesn't beat her any more, but they live two separate lives and hate each other. He still drinks (even more than before) and has multiple lovers (as he always did). And yet she doesn't leave.
Fair to say, I don't respect my parents. Her - even more than him. For being a pathetic doormat and extremely selfish.