My boyfriend snarled his threat and I’d no choice but to run
Jodie Beck, 32, Bradford
Holding out the positive pregnancy test, I watched my boyfriend John Paul’s face. Like me, he was stunned. We’d only been dating a few months, after meeting on Facebook.
First, he frowned. Took a deep breath. Then…
‘I’ll stand by you,’ he promised, pulling me in for a hug.
John Paul, then 26, was a broad-shouldered former squaddie with a reputation for being a bit of a player.
I’d been sure that he’d run a mile!
But he stuck to his word, moved in with me and my son Kielan, then 6.
Doted on me as my bump blossomed, and was by my side in July 2016 when our boy, Elijah-Rhys, was born.
Sent a bouquet of flowers with a message.
Thank you for giving me my first-born child.
Life was an exhausted bliss for four months.
John Paul changed nappies, made bottles and enjoyed sleepy cuddles. Only then, he started staying out late.
Posting videos online dancing with girls in nightclubs.
‘I’ve had enough,’ I said when he didn’t come home for an entire weekend.
But he grovelled, blamed booze, sent more flowers.
Eventually, I let him talk me round.
He’s Elijah’s dad, I thought. I want us to be a proper family. Then the insults started. Cutting words that played on my insecurities as a new mum.
‘No one else will want you with your stretch marks,’ he spat one day.
Then, during another row about his partying, he gave me a back-hander.
I was shocked. Terrified. But he grovelled, begged forgiveness, and I gave it. John Paul suffered PTSD after his time in the forces.
No excuse, but he’d been through hell and I wanted to be there for him.
When things were good they were great, but when we argued, he’d lash out.
Rows mostly started when he went out drinking and didn’t contact me.
But if I ever went out with friends, he’d accuse me of all sorts and that would end in a beating, too.
I was terrified, but trapped.
For years I put up with his explosions of violence, taking solace in his grovelling apologies.
In November 2019, we had another son, JohnBoy. Once again, John Paul stepped up.
‘I’ll do the night feeds, you rest,’ he said.
But like with Elijah, it didn’t last.
In January 2020, we were at a nightclub together and got separated.
When I eventually found him, we argued.
He pulled me out of the club, bit my nose and punched me.
It was so much worse than previous attacks.
The shock I needed.
‘It’s over,’ I said, took the boys and left.
He was arrested but I didn’t press charges. W
