I realise that I have not yet posted an update following my post day of reckoning so here it is.
The night before court
Wed Feb 10th 2016. Baby asleep, O doing his homework and me soaking in the bath. My head spinning with sickness. I flit (as I so often do) between tears of fear and of anger, but today more anger. The bath, my only solitude, washing away the signs of my sorrow. The vacuous sound of the taps flooding my surroundings with steaming hot water drowning out the deafening noise of my sobs.
The words still jumping from the page, replaying over and over in my mind as they have done since I first heard them through my lawyers’ voice on Monday.
“If your client refuses to settle out of court and agree to my clients demands he will move ahead with his legal right to raise a civil case against her for the illegal obtaining of his personal data”
Yes, I had access to his data. Access that he gave me when he begged to come home after D-day. It was one of my many conditions in allowing him home, and one he agreed to freely. And I have emails to prove it. But given my past brush with the German law (thanks to his mucky hands), it’s guilty until proven innocent and I simply don’t have anything else left in me to draw on if needed to fight.
I’m scared. Really scared. My O wants so desperately to return to his adopted home. To see his friends. The friends who carried him through things that no child should ever see or hear. Friends that he won’t ever see again if he makes good on his threat. Right or wrong how can I do that to my boo? My principles and stubbornness don’t count any more, as much as I hate it, I have to agree… you all know as a parent its engrained on us to protect our children. An innate desire to see them happy. My boo is not happy. And god only knows how that kills me each and every day. If I don’t agree we won’t ever be able to return to our beloved Germany without the dread and embarrassment of being arrested as a result of his lies. His desperation. His cowardliness.
Anger sets in
I lie, still in the tub… my sobs quieten… my breathing quickens.
How dare he threaten me again after all he had already done! How dare he harass me again! How dare he try in his typical narcissistic bullying style to manipulate me so he can get his own way! How dare he dictate to me what I must do!!
Then the thought strikes, he doesn’t have any control here, he is the scared one not me!
I am prepared to stand in that court room and answer whatever is thrown at me. To have every last transaction for the past 12 months scrutinised. After all I have been honest. A trait that simply escapes him, a word he will never know the meaning of.
I had to ask myself;
“What was it that was holding him back?”
Seeing me? Maybe…It’s possible that I am the mirror he just cannot face; I am the reality that he is running from. Out of sight and out of mind for so long, now due to stand face to face and he cannot bear the thought.
No that’s not it.
It’s the fraud. Yes, THAT’S it.
You see, I showed my hand in the questions I raised on his, well, fictional financial documents. Documents that not only demonstrated, yet again, how little he thought of my intelligence whilst ironically proving his own lack of intellect.
Did he not think that I would spot the four police fines for solicitation? The interest hitting his account from a USA trust company- an account he failed to declare! The gaps in rental payments, the lack of utility payments and the transfers in and out to Gabi… (One of the MANY Other Women, whom, as a side note has a surname which literally translates to Limp-leg… Or as I prefer Lame ass! he he), would I not realise that he was living with her? Nor did he think I wouldn’t see the bailiff payments for his failure to pay council tax, or the blatant TAX evasion. Oh what about the 54,000-euro loan that he claimed to have! The one he somehow managed to get on his 80K salary without any asset to secure it on. One for which there is no evidence of anywhere in his accounts never mind any repayments being made…
The penny has dropped…He cannot stand in a court room and answer questions on these so called “facts” without either being charged with perjury or fraud.
I rise from my hide away tub and go to the office, wrapped in a towel but still dripping, my skin prickling as the cold air hits. Lifting a pen and a piece of paper I begin to weigh up the pros and cons of what’s on the table. The “agreement” I must abide by to avoid prosecution was nothing more than a joke. Obviously it’s stacked in his favour. If I agree, as it stands then I walk away with little more than a week’s childcare worth of money as my son’s maintenance.
Nope. That’s not how this was going to go. I turned my pen to making a different list. A list of my demands. My gumption was on the rise. I spill all that anger, all that pain on to the stark white A4 paper positioned square in front of me.
All of a sudden I feel light. Warm, despite my now chattering teeth.
The day of reckoning
I rise early. I prepare to look my best. I’m prepared to go in there and fight but more importantly I’m prepared to walk away with nothing and that gives me strength. It gives me power to overcome his attempts at intimidation. After all I’m secure in the belief that truth will prevail, and if nothing else, I stood up for what I believed in.
My thoughts are disturbed by the sound of my ringing phone. The name highlighted, illuminating the inevitable conversation with my lawyer.
She, in her usual forceful way launches in to her “Right now what we need to do is… blah blah”.
“Stop Christine! I have made some decisions and I wont be changed. I need you to take these down and tell him it’s this or court.”
I start to talk, after each point she intervenes “but a court wont agree to that” or “That’s more than he would have to pay if…”
Again I stop her.
“This isn’t about what a court would agree, this is about seeing exactly how scared he is of facing his judgement day, of seeing me, of risking prison.” “it’s this or court!”
“Ok” the line goes quiet. I dry my hair, smoke another cigarette.
I arrive at my mums’ house two hours before the time we are due in court, 45 minutes before I meet my lawyer. My phone buzzes with the dulcet tones of her calling me. I answer with trepidation.
“Its done!” “he agreed it all” she goes on “I tell you, you are one smart cookie, I cannot believe that you have managed to get all that from him!”
I’m speechless. I’m elated. Yet I’m weirdly empty. I had prepared myself for yet another “worse day of my life” moment. It’s gone, it’s over… I won!!! No court, well at least not for me. She and his (and again I use this term loosely, lawyer- (£500 all in lawyer)) go and have it all legally agreed so it’s binding. No wriggle room here big boy. And that’s it.
I go in to mums house, and I cry. Sob in fact. I hear mum, upon hearing me cry “what’s happened, what’s wrong?” All I could muster was “I WON” She held me tight as she has done ‘oh so many times and I feel her shake in her embrace.
A couple of weeks have now past and the thought that he just wouldn’t sign, wouldn’t follow through continued to plague me throughout. But sign he has. The money has, well for A’s support at least, hit my account- so far so good.
So that’s it. I now choose when to make the divorce final, but I have one last condition that needs to be settled, but once it is I’m out. He is someone else’s problem. Or in his case many other people’s problem as from what I see there are still many more outside of “LAME ASS” … buying what he’s selling.
I’d like to end this post on a note. To all you ladies fighting with this system, these disgusting cowardly men, stand strong. Know yourselves and what you are worth. Don’t be bullied or scared by Narcissistic tactics and know when they hit out like this its because you called them on their bull shit. They’ve lost control and they hate it.
Who knows he may have already plotted my demise, I certainly don’t think I’m going to get away with this long term. he will strike again. But I won once and I will again. So too shall you!