While I Was Gone

While I was disappearing, everybody else was getting used to life without me.

That's a difficult sentence to write.

Because I didn't disappear deliberately.

I didn't wake up one morning and decide I didn't want to be a mum anymore.

I didn't stop loving my grandchildren.

I didn't decide my sister didn't matter.

I didn't decide Dad didn't matter.

I didn't choose a man and happily ride off into the sunset, leaving everybody else behind.

From the outside?

Maybe that's exactly what it looked like.

I had left my husband.

I'd met someone else.

I was spending more and more time with him.

I wasn't around my family as much.

I wasn't seeing my children the way I had before.

I wasn't seeing my grandchildren.

I stopped replying as much.

Stopped visiting.

Stopped being the person I'd always been.

So perhaps, from where everybody else was standing, the explanation seemed obvious.

She chose him.

But while everybody else was watching me disappear?

They couldn't see what was happening on the other side of the door.

I hadn't ridden off into the sunset.

I'd walked straight into the Nightmare.

At First, I Probably Did Look Happy

That's another uncomfortable truth.

At the beginning?

I was happy.

Or at least I thought I was.

My marriage had ended after years of feeling lonely.

I'd spent so much time feeling unwanted and ignored that suddenly having somebody who seemed desperate to speak to me felt incredible.

The Nightmare wanted my attention.

Constantly.

At first, that didn't look like control.

It looked like interest.

He wanted to know where I was.

Who I was with.

What I was doing.

He wanted to FaceTime.

He wanted to spend all his time with me.

He wanted to drive me places.

He wanted to pick me up.

He wanted to be involved in everything.

After years of sitting in separate rooms from my husband while he drank and played Xbox?

Having somebody apparently unable to get enough of me felt like the complete opposite.

And my friend had encouraged me to meet him.

She was pleased I seemed happy.

She'd told me I deserved some fun.

So for a little while?

Maybe everybody thought that's exactly what I was having.

Fun.

They didn't know what it was becoming.

Neither did I.

My World Got Smaller

Slowly, everything changed.

The attention became questions.

The questions became checking.

The checking became accusations.

Then came Life360.

FaceTimes.

Cameras.

Proof.

Photographs.

Where are you?

Who are you with?

Why did your location move?

Why didn't you answer?

Who messaged you?

Who were you talking to?

Why did you look over there?

Why did you take so long?

Things that had initially made me feel wanted started making me feel watched.

And eventually?

I wasn't living my life anymore.

I was managing his reactions to it.

Everything became about preventing the next accusation.

Preventing the next argument.

Preventing the next explosion.

And when you're spending every minute trying to keep one person calm?

Everybody else starts getting whatever pieces of you are left.

Eventually there weren't many pieces left.

Even When My Daughter Was There, He Was There

My youngest daughter came to stay with me.

That should have been time with her.

Mum and daughter.

Normality.

Instead?

I had to be on FaceTime with the Nightmare practically all day.

He wasn't physically sitting beside us.

But he didn't need to be.

He was in the phone.

In the room.

In my head.

I couldn't simply put the phone down and spend the day with my daughter without thinking about what would happen afterwards.

So there she was.

My child.

Actually beside me.

And I still wasn't fully there.

I hate that.

Because when I look back now, those are the moments I want back.

Not some huge holiday.

Not some massive family occasion.

A fucking afternoon.

An ordinary afternoon with my daughter where I wasn't staring at a screen trying to reassure a grown man that I wasn't doing anything wrong.

That's what control takes from you.

Ordinary things.

And Eventually I Told Him Not to Contact Me

There were moments when I knew something was badly wrong.

Moments when I tried to push back.

I even messaged him telling him:

Do not contact me again.

I meant it when I wrote it.

At least in that moment.

I wanted it finished.

I wanted the pressure to stop.

I wanted my head back.

But saying don't contact me again and actually getting free of somebody are two very different things.

Especially when fear, apologies, promises, affection, accusations and control have all become tangled together.

So it continued.

And every time I went back, every time I answered, every time I stayed?

From the outside it probably looked more and more like a choice.

Inside?

I was becoming less and less capable of making one freely.

Meanwhile, Home Carried On

And while all of that was happening?

My old life didn't stop.

My husband carried on.

My children carried on.

My grandchildren carried on.

My friend carried on.

Everybody adjusted.

Because what else were they supposed to do?

I wasn't there.

And the longer I wasn't there, the more everybody found a new normal.

That's one of the hardest things to accept.

Because when I finally came out of the Nightmare, part of me expected to walk back into the spaces I'd occupied before.

Except people had filled them.

Routines had changed.

Relationships had changed.

People who hadn't previously spent much time together were spending time together.

People had become closer.

Roles had shifted.

And I wasn't there to see any of it happen.

Grandad of the Year

My grandchildren are probably one of the clearest examples.

Before I left my husband, I wanted them around more than he did.

Before I started working, I'd had them all the time.

Once I was working, obviously that changed.

But even when I could have them, my husband didn't always want them there.

He'd moan about coming home to them.

So sometimes I didn't have them as much as I wanted.

Then I left.

And apparently?

Grandad of the fucking Year arrived.

Suddenly he was keeping them overnight.

Taking them out.

Spoiling them.

Doing all the things he'd previously moaned about.

Maybe something genuinely changed for him.

Maybe he realised he enjoyed having them more than he'd thought.

I can't tell you why.

I can only tell you what it looked like from where I stood.

When I was there?

Their presence could be something to moan about.

When I wasn't?

He became far more involved.

And while he was building that relationship?

I was losing mine.

I Wasn't There to Be Gran

That's the bit that hurts.

My grandchildren didn't know what was happening.

They didn't know about the accusations.

They didn't know about the cameras.

They didn't know about the baths.

They didn't know I'd had a towel put in my mouth.

They didn't know I'd been strangled.

They didn't know about the fear.

They didn't know why Gran wasn't around.

They just knew she wasn't.

And children don't stop growing because an adult is being abused.

They don't pause until Gran gets her life sorted.

They carry on.

Every week I wasn't there was another week of their childhood I wasn't part of.

And I can understand now why everybody else simply carried on without me.

But understanding something doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

My Friend Was Still There Too

Then there was my friend.

The woman from the last post.

The woman who knew exactly how unhappy I'd been in my marriage.

The woman who'd called my husband's behaviour teenage behaviour.

The woman who'd told me to walk away from men who weren't worthy of me.

The woman who'd celebrated me getting my own place.

The woman who'd told me my life was going to be happier and less stressful.

The woman who'd encouraged me to go on a date.

The woman who'd encouraged me to meet the man who eventually became the Nightmare.

The woman who'd called my oldest daughter a bitch.

Said she was fucked in the head.

Questioned my sister.

Defended me over the holiday.

Told me to stop taking everybody's shit.

The woman who'd said:

“We are supposed to be in this fucked up life together.”

When I disappeared?

She didn't disappear from my old life.

She stayed.

The Holiday That Wasn't Going Away

Even before the Nightmare completely took over my life, there had been the holiday.

My friend had booked to come with her children.

Then my marriage ended.

Then everything with my oldest daughter blew up.

Then I was effectively being told I needed to take myself off the holiday.

My friend told me her booking couldn't simply be changed.

Which left this bizarre situation where the woman who'd spent months encouraging me to leave my husband was potentially going on holiday with...

my husband.

My family.

My children.

Without me.

At the time, there were explanations.

Practicalities.

Bookings.

Money.

Children.

And I had so much else happening that I didn't stop and properly look at how fucking strange the whole thing was.

Then the Nightmare consumed everything.

And honestly?

The holiday became the least of my problems.

They Were All Still Connected

While I became more isolated, the people I'd left behind remained connected to one another.

Of course they did.

They shared children.

Grandchildren.

History.

A home.

Friendships.

And my friend had become part of that world too.

That's the part that becomes difficult to explain without hindsight taking over.

Because I didn't know then what I know now.

I wasn't sitting in the Nightmare's house thinking:

I wonder what's going on between my friend and my husband.

I had more immediate concerns.

Like:

What mood is he in?

Why has Life360 moved?

What am I about to be accused of?

Do I need to answer this FaceTime immediately?

How do I convince him I'm not cheating?

How do I stop this becoming violent?

Eventually:

How do I survive tonight?

My old life might as well have been happening in another country.

Then My Family Thought I'd Chosen Him

And I can see why.

That's one of the hardest things to admit.

They didn't have access to what was happening inside that relationship.

They had access to me disappearing.

My children saw less of me.

My grandchildren barely saw me.

My youngest daughter could sit in the same room as me and still have the Nightmare taking up my attention through FaceTime.

My youngest son didn't know what was happening.

My oldest daughter and I had already fallen out.

Dad didn't know.

My sister didn't know.

And I wasn't telling them.

So what conclusion were they supposed to reach?

I'd left my husband.

Met another man.

And vanished.

From their side of the story?

Maybe I looked selfish.

Maybe irresponsible.

Maybe completely fucking stupid.

Maybe they thought:

She's chosen him over us.

What they couldn't see was that by the time I realised how bad things were?

I was frightened of him.

Then Everything Came Out

Eventually there was no hiding it anymore.

The Nightmare was arrested.

And the truth I'd been keeping from everybody had to come out.

Not the sanitised version.

Not:

We've been having a few problems.

Not:

He's a bit jealous.

Not:

Things have been difficult.

The truth.

The strangulation.

The baths.

The towel.

The shower.

The violence.

The control.

The cameras.

The accusations.

The things I'd been living through while everybody else thought I was off living this new life I'd chosen.

And then came one of the hardest things.

My sister had to tell people.

My children.

Dad.

My husband.

The people I'd spent months hiding it from.

Suddenly they knew.

And once people know something like that?

You can't put it back in the box.

My Children Found Out

My children had to learn that while they'd been angry with me, confused by me or wondering where the fuck I'd gone...

their mum had been being abused.

My youngest son was angry that I hadn't told him.

And I understand that.

Because from his perspective?

He's my son.

Why didn't Mum tell me?

Why didn't she let me help?

But what was I supposed to say?

Hi son, just thought I'd let you know the man I'm with is strangling me.

I couldn't even properly admit what was happening to myself.

Never mind say it out loud to my children.

My youngest daughter blamed herself.

She thought maybe if she'd stayed with me more, things might have been different.

And that broke my heart.

Because no child should ever carry that.

It wasn't her job to stay with Mum so Mum wouldn't be hurt.

It wasn't her responsibility to protect me.

She was my daughter.

Not my bodyguard.

Dad Found Out Too

Then Dad knew.

My dad.

The man who'd previously heard me shout in a pub:

“What, so you can put a knife to my throat again?”

about my husband years earlier.

The man whose house I'd moved into afterwards.

The man I'd gone back home from anyway.

Now he was finding out that another man had hurt me.

Badly.

And five weeks later?

Dad and I still haven't spoken.

He hasn't called.

He hasn't texted.

He hasn't checked whether I'm okay.

And I haven't known how to call him either.

That's the truth.

I don't know how to have that conversation.

I don't know what I'm supposed to say.

Sorry I disappeared?

Sorry I didn't tell you?

Sorry you had to find out from somebody else?

I don't know.

So there is silence.

And silence can be fucking loud.

My Husband Found Out

My husband found out too.

The man I'd left.

The man my friend had spent so much time criticising.

The father of my youngest daughter.

The person I'd shared years of my life with.

Whatever existed between us by then — anger, resentment, hurt, divorce, arguments, all of it — he now knew what the man after him had done to me.

And by the time I came back into the world properly?

My husband had his own life.

My friend had her own life.

My children had their lives.

Everybody had adapted.

I was the one arriving back trying to understand where the fuck I fitted.

I Came Back to a Different Family

That's what it felt like.

I hadn't just escaped an abusive relationship.

I'd returned to a family structure that had changed while I'd been gone.

My grandchildren had become used to me not being there.

My husband had become more involved with them.

My oldest daughter and I barely had a relationship.

My oldest son was living his life.

My youngest son was angry I hadn't told him but still randomly appeared at my house with his mates.

My youngest daughter came back to live with me while continuing to speak to her dad every day.

Dad and I weren't speaking.

And my friend?

She had remained woven into the family I'd left.

It felt like I'd been erased from a photograph and everyone had shuffled closer together to fill the gap.

Then suddenly?

I was back.

And there wasn't an obvious space to step into anymore.

I Don't Blame Them for Carrying On

That's important.

I can't expect everybody's lives to have stopped because mine had become horrific.

My grandchildren needed people.

My children needed people.

Everybody had their own shit happening.

They couldn't sit around indefinitely waiting for me to come back.

I understand that.

But there is still grief in discovering that people learned how to live without you.

Especially when you didn't actually want to leave them.

I hadn't stopped loving them.

I hadn't forgotten them.

I hadn't chosen the Nightmare because he mattered more.

I'd become trapped in something I didn't know how to escape.

There's a difference.

And maybe understanding that difference is going to take time for all of us.

Then I Started Looking Back

Once the Nightmare was gone, something strange happened.

For the first time in months?

I had space to think.

That wasn't always a good thing.

Because when you're surviving, you're dealing with what's directly in front of you.

Once you're safe enough to look backwards?

Everything starts arriving.

Memories.

Questions.

Dates.

Screenshots.

Conversations.

Things people said.

Things that didn't make sense then but suddenly make a little more sense now.

I'd already discovered the women connected to the Nightmare.

Fifty-three of them.

I'd started lining up dates.

Realising that while he'd been accusing me of cheating, he had been talking to women himself.

Realising that while I'd been beaten and interrogated over imaginary affairs, he had been presenting himself as single.

That had forced me to re-examine the relationship I'd just escaped.

But then I started looking even further back.

At my old life.

At my marriage.

At my friend.

At those 33 screenshots I'd kept.

And suddenly?

I wasn't only asking what the Nightmare had hidden from me.

I was asking:

What happened while I was gone?

My Friend Had Known Everything

That's the part I kept coming back to.

She knew how broken my marriage had been.

She knew what I'd said about my husband.

She knew what he'd said to me.

She'd seen the messages.

She'd heard the voice notes.

She'd encouraged me to leave.

She'd celebrated when I did.

She'd criticised my daughter.

Questioned my sister.

Encouraged me to meet somebody else.

She'd told me:

“Don't hold candles for men who aren't worthy of you.”

And then, while I was with the Nightmare?

She stayed connected to the man she'd told me to leave.

My husband.

At first, I tried to tell myself there were obvious reasons.

The children.

The holiday.

Mutual connections.

Practicalities.

Life is complicated.

Not everything is a conspiracy.

Not every friendship between two people means something sinister.

And I had absolutely no interest in inventing another betrayal because I'd already survived enough real ones.

But the more I started looking?

The more uncomfortable it became.

Because some things weren't quite matching the story I'd believed.

And suddenly?

The old messages weren't just old messages anymore.

They were a timeline.

The Woman Who Stayed Behind

There is something deeply strange about reading somebody's words after your relationship with them has changed.

A message doesn't change.

The words are exactly the same.

But you change.

The information you have changes.

And suddenly something you read one way at the time reads completely differently years — or even months — later.

“Proud of you.”

“Your life is going to be so much happier.”

“Ignore him.”

“Don't allow him to continue the same behaviours.”

“I don't understand the women in your family.”

“We are supposed to be in this fucked up life together.”

At the time?

Support.

Friendship.

Loyalty.

Now?

I had questions.

A lot of fucking questions.

Because while I'd been fighting to survive the Nightmare...

my friend had stayed behind.

And she hadn't just stayed somewhere vaguely on the edges of my old life.

She had stayed close to my family.

Close to my husband.

The same husband she'd spent so long encouraging me to leave.

And that is where the next part of this story begins.

Because surviving the Nightmare meant discovering what he'd done to me.

Coming home meant discovering what had happened without me.

And I honestly don't know which set of revelations made me question my own judgement more.

Next: The Friend Who Stopped Answering.