I’d always made an effort with my
appearance but Glyn didn’t like it. “Look at
you, getting all dolled up for other blokes,” he
said slyly as I straightened my hair one day.
If I wore nice trousers, he would accuse me
of wanting to show off my bum. His remarks
began to wear me down so I stopped styling
my hair, wearing make-up and using fake tan.
My family and friends sensed I was unhappy
and urged me to leave him but I was numb.
Glyn’s jealousy was stifling. The only
way I could face getting up in
the morning was to block
everything out.
Then, in September 2015,
Glyn lashed out at me.
He’d been making cruel
comments about my weight
and I asked him to leave.
“I can’t be with you when
you’re like this,” I said,
putting his clothes into a bag.
He snapped and pushed
my face down into the bed so
I couldn’t breathe. Our little boy came
into the room and he stopped, but as I bolted
out of the house to phone the police, he
charged after me, pulling my hair. I shut myself
in a phone box, sobbing. When the police
arrived, Glyn was hiding inside the flat.RESTRAINING ORDER
He was arrested and I was granted a
restraining order against him. I wanted to move
on but he asked for contact with our son and
I didn’t have the heart to refuse. We arranged
visits through friends and relatives at first but
as the months went on, Glyn started texting
me. “I want to be a family again,” he wrote.
He apologised for everything and stepped
up to provide for our boy. It felt like he was
becoming the same doting family man I’d
fallen for. So, despite the restraining order, I
began meeting him myself to drop off our son.
“You have to believe me. I’ve changed. I will
never treat you that way again,” Glyn cried.
He was constantly pleading with me to give
him a second chance. I was too broken to say
no and I slowly relented. Although my familyconfused, I ignored Glyn’s rants and went to
stay at my mum’s house. The next day, he was
mortified by his behaviour. “I’m so sorry,” he
cried. “Someone must’ve spiked my drink.”INCREASING CONTROL
Glyn had never given me any reason to doubt
him, so I agreed to put the argument behind
us. But throughout my pregnancy, his angry
outbursts continued. He insisted on walking
me to and from work. I thought he
was just being protective but
he was still paranoid about
me cheating.
One day, I left two
coffee cups unwashed in
the sink. “You’ve been
seeing other men in our
house!” he raged. “Don’t
be ridiculous,” I cried.
When our son was
born in January 2014, Glyn
ruined what should have
been the happiest day of my life.
In the labour suite, he took the gas
and air away from me and became so
aggressive that the midwives asked him to
leave. I was mortified but I had a duty to put
my son’s needs before our messy relationship.
Despite everything, I still loved Glyn. I’d
bonded with his children and I believed
becoming a father again might be the making
of him. Sadly, I was wrong. Although I was
still grieving and suffering from postnatal
depression, he left most of the childcare duties
to me. Everything revolved around him and he
made me give him receipts for every single
thing I bought.“You again!” I said, laughing, as a familiar
face came through the door.
It was Glyn Holmes, then 27. I worked in a
corner shop and he came in nearly every day.
“Just making spaghetti bolognese,” he said,
timidly. “I forgot the pasta last time.”
Although Glyn wasn’t my usual type, it
was obvious he fancied me. He was always
making excuses to come in for a chat and
I was starting to really like him. “Actually, I
wondered if you’d like me to cook for you one
night?” Glyn said. “OK,” I replied, smiling.
That same week, at the start of February
2011, Glyn made my favourite meal, sausages
and mash. He had two children and he
seemed like a doting dad. “I share custody
with my ex,” he explained.
I wasn’t used to feeling so appreciated
and looked after. Glyn, a chef, was such a
gentleman, always giving me compliments and
taking me for romantic walks on the beach.
We fell in love and three months later, we
moved into a flat together. My dad, Darren,
lived just down the road and he was so happy
for us. Glyn and I began planning our future
together. But, two years later, Dad was
diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and
he was given just months to live.
I tried to stay strong but shortly after the
diagnosis, I discovered I was pregnant. It
broke my heart knowing Dad would never
meet his grandchild. He passed away before
my 12-week scan, at just 45 years old.
Shattered by grief, I relied on Glyn more
than ever. But on the day of Dad’s funeral, he
began acting strangely. Rather than supporting
me, he downed several pints at the wake.
Realising he was drunk, I arranged for a
friend to drive us home. I switched the oven
on to cook a pizza and went upstairs to change.
Suddenly, I heard Glyn shouting. “You’ve left
the oven on all day!” he screeched.
“What are you talking about?” I replied,
rushing downstairs. “I just switched it on!”
But Glyn wouldn’t stop screaming. “I bet the
baby isn’t even mine... it’s the postman’s!” he
spat, shoving me roughly.
I had no idea where his anger was coming
from. I had never been unfaithful. Scared andZoe Roberts, 29, from Llandudno, north Wales, tells
how her ‘perfect’ partner became an abusive monster
‘He wanted
to make
me feel
worthless’
‘My controlling e
me from having pa
during labour’
She didn’t have
the heart to refuse
Glyn contact with
their son