I’ve been prevented from divorcing my abusive estranged husband for 20 years

The day I filed for divorce from my husband Paul* was a momentous occasion. 

After over a year of mounting physical and emotional abuse, threats, and even moving countries to be rid of him, my solicitor told me there should be no reason for it not to go through. 

‘We can do it on grounds of adultery,’ they said. And I left practically giddy with excitement. 

However, that was nearly 20 years ago and yet, in the eyes of the law, we’re still married. 

Frankly I’m at a loss for what to do – I just want to be rid of him.

My path first crossed with Paul’s* in 2005 after we matched on a popular dating site.

Online dating was practically a novelty then, no one knew the dangers in the way we do now, so I – being someone that lived in a tiny village where the opportunities for romance were few and far between – figured there was no harm in signing up. 

I found Paul incredibly charming but I never expected anything to come of our internet dalliance. 

He was in the army – deployed to a war zone at the time but lived in Germany – and I was a single mum to three kids living in the UK.

So when, after a few weeks of talking, communication between us fizzled I thought nothing of it. That is until around 18 months later when he called me out of the blue. 

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He claimed it was a wrong number, but then proceeded to remind me who he was and ask me on a date as he happened to be in the country. 

The date itself was relaxed, just a few drinks at the local pub, and we got on incredibly well. He gave me the sense that he was going to look after me and that was something I loved the idea of. 

Over the next three months things escalated quickly. Despite only seeing each other a couple more times in person there were confessions of love and being together forever and even talks of marriage. 

I truly believed that we were destined for one another and was ready to race up the aisle. My family, on the other hand, were not so convinced and urged me not to go through with the wedding. 

Of course, I didn’t listen and at our wedding, only six of my friends and my three children attended. Even my best friend, who sat in the front row, sobbed throughout the ceremony because she was so desperately worried about me. 

I was determined we would prove them all wrong though. That we’d have a happy, lasting marriage for many years to come. 

But from that moment on, things changed. 

On the wedding night itself, Paul shoved and spat on me for, unknowingly and accidentally, burning his favourite T-shirt with a dropped cigarette. It was the first time I’d seen this side of him and I simply froze in shock. 

This man, who I’d vehemently defended to everyone saying he was a good guy, a protector, and someone I could trust, was now proving he was in fact not that guy. 

Of course there were times when I’d think about leaving

I wanted to call my friends and family, but I couldn’t face the echoes of ‘we told you so’ from everyone I knew.  

Two weeks later the kids and I moved to Germany with him and strict rules were imposed. 

Paul dictated how much contact the kids could have with their dads and how much I could reach out to my family. He also told me who I could and couldn’t be friends with and where in town I was allowed to go and gave me a list of places to avoid. 

Looking back now I can see it was all part of his ploy to control every aspect of me and my life, but at the time, I told myself it was just because he cared. 

It was, however, harder to use that excuse when he’d get drunk and, inevitably, violent. 

On those occasions he’d not only tell me how I was worthless and how nobody would want me, he’d spit on me, grab me by the throat and pin me up against the living room wall. Sometimes he’d even hold a knife to my throat and tell me how he was going to kill me.  

Afterwards, he’d typically lock himself away in the bedroom or disappear for days. Luckily, as he was so often away, this behaviour and his sudden absence for days on end never struck the children as odd. Instead, for us, life would carry on as normal. 

When he’d reappear he’d either guilt me into an apology or say how much he couldn’t bear to be without me. I didn’t necessarily believe him, but I just wanted peace, stability. 

Of course there were times when I’d think about leaving – by now, I’d owned up to myself that marrying him had been my biggest mistake – but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. 

He cleared out our joint bank account to leave me with nothing, yet told people I was the one who’d taken his money

Paul might have been dreadful to me but he was nothing but wonderful to the children. He doted on them, took them on day trips and was always on best behaviour when they were around. Besides, I’d already dragged them to Germany, and the last thing I wanted to do was drag them anywhere else. 

Eventually though, that’s exactly what I had to do. 

Just over a year into our marriage I discovered he had a secret phone and on it were the numbers and texts from multiple women, one of whom had just discovered she was pregnant. At that moment my world collapsed. 

Sure, things had been far from perfect, but I’d always thought the love between us, at least at one point, had been real.

For the next few weeks there was a lot of shouting and crying as I confronted him about his various affairs. We then became very cold, distant to each other and our interactions were purely practical. 

We called the relationship quits soon after but things only got worse from there. 

He cleared out our joint bank account to leave me with nothing, yet told people I was the one who’d taken his money. He sold my car without me knowing, which meant I was forced to use what little funds I had to buy it back. And I presume he was behind the calls I’d get from women who’d say how ‘fat and ugly’ I was and how wonderful he was. 

Eventually, the whole thing became so exhausting that I just knew I had to get out: out of the house we’d once shared and, for my own safety, the country. 

By this point the threats – that no matter where I went, he’d find me and kill me – were becoming pretty constant, so I knew home wasn’t an option. I had to think of somewhere else, somewhere we could disappear and be safe. 

I hate that Paul still has control over my life

With some help from a neighbour and a lot of secrecy, I planned for our move to Northern Ireland. 

I changed my number, email address and did everything I could to help the kids and I have a fresh start. But sadly, he somehow got ahold of my address and the threats continued to come by post. 

I just hoped that, once his new baby arrived, it’d all just stop. That he’d either get bored or have less time to harass me and that we could get a divorce and go our separate ways for good. 

Despite my best efforts though, that didn’t and, still hasn’t, happened. 

The first solicitor I went to in 2009 seemed confident that my case was a cut and dried one. 

However, as Paul was still living on the army base at that time, it became difficult to prove that we had served the papers (an essential step for being granted a divorce in Northern Ireland) as it was signed for by whoever was in the post room on that day. In short, I was stuck. 

A few years later I tried to go through the process again – shelling out a further £310 – in hopes that, this time, he might respond. Sure enough, he claimed to have received nothing again. 

The only other option I had was to wait for him to leave the army so that I could file to his new address directly. 

But the moment he did in 2021, everything stopped. 

There were no more threatening phone calls or letters and while I was grateful for that, it also meant I had no idea where he lived and so couldn’t file against him. I was stuck, again.  

Had I lived in England this divorce would have been over and done with more than 10 years ago as all I would have had to do was prove I’d tried to serve the papers. 

Instead, Paul and I remain married even though we’ve not seen one another for almost 17 years. 

It’s not like I can just go back home to get this over with either – I’m still terrified that if I did, he’d find me and make good on all those threats.

I hate that Paul still has control over my life. I hate that, because he won’t give me a divorce, I wasn’t able to marry my partner, Chris*, before he died from terminal cancer last month. And I hate that there is nothing in law that prevents him from doing this. 

Something has to change. The law has to do better to support survivors. 

Because even though I escaped the relationship, in many ways, I’m still trapped. 

*Names have been changed 

As told to Emma Rossiter

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