CRIS 30th Anniversary Story | Esther

“It was the first time I felt safe in three years.”

Esther (pseudonym) remembers her first meeting with CRIS attorney Angie Plummer with vivid clarity. “My brain was suffering from the effects of trauma. I could barely comprehend what was going on around me. But when Angie explained how she would help me—what steps we could take together—I understood every word. She treated me with respect. It was the first time I felt safe in three years.”

Before she met Angie, Esther had been trapped in a nightmare. Originally from Africa, she came to the U.S. to marry her fiancé and join his family. It seemed like a dream—his family had visited her home country, spent time with her family, and shared many of her values and traditions. Esther believed she would have a strong support system here.

At first, things went well. She and her husband lived across the street from his parents and near other relatives. She studied for her driver’s license, looked for work, and was excited when she received a job offer in her professional field. But that excitement quickly vanished when her in-laws insisted she decline the job. They said her place was at home.

Over time, her independence was stripped away. She wasn’t allowed to get her driver’s license or even go to the grocery store. Her food was rationed. She wasn’t allowed to receive her own mail or have a mobile phone. If she spoke up, she was shamed for being ungrateful. She developed chronic abdominal pain and withdrew further, constantly wondering if she was the problem.

Behind her back, her in-laws—frustrated with what they saw as her lack of cooperation—began the process of trying to revoke her immigration status. One day, they told her she was no longer part of the family and handed her a plane ticket to another city, offering no explanation about what would happen next.

Something in her shifted. She was still overwhelmed by confusion and fear, but she sensed she was in danger. Using the only connection she had to the outside world—a computer she was allowed to use—she began researching her symptoms and situation. She found a diagram titled “cycle of abuse,” and for the first time, she had language for what was happening to her.

Determined to find a way out, she memorized the number of a domestic violence shelter and used her husband’s phone in secret to make contact with the shelter. After a few calls, she formed a plan.

One day, with her husband downstairs, she grabbed a folder of documents (her passport was being withheld by her in-laws), and ran out the door. She had no idea where to go. Acting on instinct, she noticed a neighbor’s garage door was open and ran into the house.

They had never met before. The neighbor didn’t even know Esther lived nearby. She was out of breath, shaking, terrified—but she asked to use his phone and called the shelter. They gave him directions to a safe meeting spot, and he agreed to drive her. She laid in the backseat, hidden from view, until she arrived.

Though she’d escaped, she still didn’t feel safe. Would her in-laws come after her? Had they involved law enforcement? Was deportation really imminent? She had no money, no phone, and no one to call.

At the shelter, she met with a case manager who helped her begin rebuilding. She found a job as a cashier and a room to rent. But she needed legal help to address her immigration status—and that’s when she was introduced to CRIS and Angie Plummer.

Esther describes her first meeting with Angie as a turning point. “She laid out a clear plan: steps to take, what documents we needed to gather, and what the possible outcomes were. For the first time, I had hope.”

Angie became CRIS’ Executive Director in the early 2000s and continued to practice law in this new role. CRIS had secured a grant through the Women’s Fund of Central Ohio to provide Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) services to survivors like Esther.

While her VAWA case was pending, Esther knew that her temporary work authorization would likely expire before her case was adjudicated. She had no choice but to stretch every dollar she earned. Her clothes came from a free store. Her food came from a pantry. She walked an hour to work and picked up extra shifts whenever she could. She started therapy through Catholic Social Services and focused on survival, day by day.

Six long months passed. Then one day, she got the call from Angie: her case had been approved. She would be eligible for a green card and authorized to work. 

That moment marked the beginning of a new chapter. She enrolled in graduate school, completed her master’s degree, and eventually moved out of state for a fresh start.

Today, Esther has a career she loves. She is a U.S. citizen. She travels home annually to visit her family. Her story has what she describes as an “unlikely happy ending.”

“I could not have imagined my life as it is today when I was living through those three years of abuse,” she says. “My life would not be what it is without the support Angie provided me.”