Beginning to End

911 call that forever changed my life

Medical records from July 6th, 2026.

On July 2, 2026, I took a step that required every ounce of courage I had left: I called 911.

For four years, I had endured continuous abuse at the hands of my ex-partner. Now, I was finally ready to file a criminal case against him for two specific offenses: invasive video recording and the unlawful distribution of intimate material. When Travis County Deputies arrived at my door, I welcomed them inside and shared my story through tears. They listened, validated the horrific reality of what I’d lived through, and treated me with empathy. They handed me a victim’s assistance packet with a case number, advised me to seek a protective order, and assured me that a Special Victims Unit detective would follow up.

For the first time in years, I felt empowered. The responding officers were kind, inquisitive, and supportive. I believed the justice system was going to work in my favor, which was welcome energy after all I’d experienced in my previous relationship.

The next day, July 3rd, my Aunt Denise (NeeNee) flew into Austin to offer emotional support. My claims of sexual abuse were backed by documented evidence, and with NeeNee by my side, I felt prepared to navigate the legal process. We planned to visit the Travis County Attorney’s Office on Monday, July 6th, to file for the protective order. Given the history of domestic abuse, securing a protective order felt like a crucial safety net while law enforcement investigated his sex crimes.

July 4th was peaceful. We booked a room at the Austin Motel, walked down South Congress, sat in the sun, and reconnected after months apart.

July 5th started out just as bright- until it became the absolute worst day of my life.

That afternoon, the Austin Motel hosted a pool party. Over the course of seven sunny hours, I had two margaritas. I hate that I even feel the need to specify this, but I have been relentlessly criminalized for drinking alcohol that day, as if consuming two drinks over seven hours somehow justified what happened to me.

Around 7:00 PM, my aunt, my friend Lizzie, and I decided to walk the short block from the Austin Motel to Aba. I had spent the afternoon making friends and networking at the pool, trying to rebuild the sense of community I had lost when I escaped my abuser in late 2024. Near the entrance of the restaurant, I saw a man sitting alone and walked up to introduce myself: “Hi, I’m Maria. I’ve been playing a card game with people at the pool party—would you be interested in joining?”

Since that night, county officials have continuously reprimanded me for that single interaction:

“You approached a stranger?”

“Why would you talk to any man after what your ex did to you?”

“You clearly don’t know how to mind your own business.”

This victim-blaming logic is completely incomprehensible to me. My intention was simply to make a human connection in a world increasingly isolated by algorithms. Saying hello to someone in a public setting is not a crime.

At first, the interaction seemed fine. We bantered back and forth, but the moment I asked for his name, his demeanor flipped. He became intensely aggressive. Sensing danger, I decided to walk away, but he followed me. Being a 100-pound woman face-to-face with an aggressive, towering man who was encroaching on my personal space, I was terrified he was going to assault me.

With my aunt watching as a witness, I dialed 911 at 8:05PM. Just three days earlier, calling law enforcement had provided safety and validation. I really thought I was doing the right thing.

Instead, Officers Montes De Oca and Tippet from the Austin Police Department arrived and immediately flipped the narrative. Rather than investigating the aggressive man who was following me, they accused me of being drunk, claiming they smelled alcohol on my breath. They took his word over mine, ignored my 911 call, and decided that I (a 100-pound, unarmed woman trying to protect herself) was a "threat to the public."

They arrested me and charged me with Public Intoxication. (PI)

That night, I was taken into the Travis County Jail (TCJ) a place where the system meant to keep order instead turned completely feral.

What followed throughout those endless hours was pure brutalization. It is painful to put these details into words because of how deeply violated I was all night long. The correctional officers treated me with unimaginable cruelty. I wasn't fighting back; I was simply a terrified victim asking basic questions. I asked for my statutory right to a phone call. I asked for a blood alcohol test to prove I was not intoxicated. I asked for someone to explain why a man was allowed to follow and corner me without consequence while I was the one in handcuffs.

Every time I spoke, every time I asked for help, I was met with escalating levels of physical violence that I still struggle to comprehend.

I was released the following day. My aunt drove me straight to the emergency room to treat the severe physical damage inflicted on me inside that facility. In the safety of the hospital, I disclosed the sexual assault that had taken place during my detainment. Because medical staff are mandated reporters, law enforcement was notified—and ironically, it was Travis County Sheriff’s Deputies who arrived at my bedside.

While the Austin Police Department and the Travis County Sheriff’s Office are two separate agencies, both operate under the institutional umbrella of Travis County leadership, led by elected Sheriff Sally Hernandez.

Fortunately, the hospital brought in an advocate from the SAFE Alliance. Her presence was a lifeline & kept me grounded as I gave a formal criminal statement to Deputy Denise Valentin and her partner, detailing the excessive force and sexual violence I endured at the hands of the Travis County Jail correctional officers.

The days that followed were a physical and emotional haze. I was discharged on July 8th- carrying a concussion, nerve damage in my dominant hand, a PTSD diagnosis, and reliance on crutches to walk due to an injury that had become infected from the unsanitary conditions in the jail.

Yet, as broken as my body was, the injustice didn't stop at the hospital doors.

While trying to process everything, I had been blogging here- using writing as a survival tool to recount the four years of domestic abuse I had survived prior to July 2nd. Shortly after my release from the hospital, my ex-boyfriend served me with a Temporary Restraining Order.

The utter hypocrisy of it hit like a second assault. He wasn't petitioning to keep himself away from me physically. He knows I pose no threat. Instead, he weaponized the civil court system to gag me, legally prohibiting me from publishing his name on my blog. After years of physical and emotional control, after calling the police for help, and after being brutalized by the county jail, the system served as his personal weapon to silence my truth. He didn't want safety; he wanted to strip away the only voice I had left. The case is still active, and it sickens me to think he could’ve recorded our most intimate moments without my consent, pay the court a 500 dollar bond to silence my voice, and now this appears as public record where I’m listed as the defendant in a case where he should really be sitting in jail.

Living in the wake of all this, I have been left with severe, debilitating PTSD. Yet, the intimidation hasn't stopped. In the span of just eight weeks, Travis County deputies have shown up at my door five separate times, each time claiming they received reports that I had made violent threats against "them."

The allegation is absurd. I detest violence; I wouldn't harm a soul. But every unexpected knock sends a wave of terror through me. My fear of law enforcement grows deeper every day. I am terrified of the badges, the guns, and the authority these officers carry. The incessant pounding on my front door became so unbearable that I had to flee my own home, seeking refuge elsewhere just to escape the constant threat of another confrontation.

I understand the mental toll this has taken on me. I asked my dad to take FMLA leave from August 6th to August 20th to stay by my side and keep me safe.

On August 15th, the weight of the trauma collapsed on me, and I suffered a severe panic attack. I assume someone heard by sobs and called 911, because again, Travis County Deputies came knocking on my door.

My dad met them at the entrance, explaining that I was in the middle of a severe panic attack, and that he was simply trying to console me. In the chaos of my panic, overwhelmed and hyperventilating, I had reflexively pushed him away from me.

That single, desperate physical reaction in the middle of a mental breakdown was all they needed.

Rather than de-escalating or offering medical support, the deputies arrested me for family violence and assault. My Ring camera captured the entire interaction with the cops: the terror in my eyes, my visible panic, and my father explaining the panic I was experiencing. Yet, they ignored the reality of a daughter in crisis and chose to weaponize my father's words against us.

I was dragged back to the Travis County Jail.

For four nights and five days, I was locked away. I was given no food and denied a single change of clothes. I was on my period and had bled through my pants. There was not a shred of human empathy from a single staff member. Instead, after deeming me "suicidal," their solution was to strip away my dignity entirely and lock me back in solitary confinement.

I come from a poor family- It took my dad a few days to secure the $3,000 bond before I could be released. I even told the judge and the court appointed attorney that I’d been raped and they both seemed to mock the situation, as if I’d made it up? It’s very strange behavior, and signals great public corruption in Travis County.

I could not have imagined that calling 911 on July 5th would’ve led to this kind of outcome. If I could go back to July 5th and hide out in the Aba bathroom until the man walked away, I would. If I could go back and erase the 6 years I spent with a man that continues to attack my character with litigation abuse, I would. But I can’t- I can only try my hardest to pick up the pieces and move forward with the same grace I wish any one of these people would offer me. Everything is not as it seems - my story is proof.

I share this publicly because I want women to be very careful when utilizing the public emergency response system. I was naive, and I won’t be anymore. It was a lesson I needed to learn about humanity, but I carry hope with me.

Now, all I have left is a simple prayer for my life and my future.

I pray that the Travis County Sheriff’s Office will leave me in peace. That the knocking on my door will end, and I can begin to feel safe in my own home again.

I pray that my attorney succeeds in having these unjust charges fully dismissed. What was done to me was wrong, cruel, and entirely preventable. I am not a criminal. I am a survivor who asked for help, only to be repeatedly harmed by the very systems sworn to protect me.

And I pray that my ex-partner finally lets go- that his civil case against me is closed, and that he is stripped of any remaining power to intimidate, silence, or control my life.

I survived the abuse. I survived the jail. Now, I just want my freedom, my voice, and my peace back.