What Happened After My Wife Kicked Me Out

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It was my second marriage and if I thought the first one was bad, oh boy, did I ever get the second one wrong.

She was young, slender and attractive. Being Spanish, she also had what seemed like a vibrant Latin personality.

Let me tell you, a Latin temperament between the covers in the bedroom is all well and good, but in a kitchen full of sharp knives and heavy kitchen utensils, along with full bottles of wine, it is downright bloody dangerous.

One of the first times we had sex I agreed to wear a black face mask that completely covered my eyes. It was only afterwards that I noticed a pair of very sharp open scissors on the bedside table. That alone should have sounded a warning.

When I invited her to move in with me I took a photo down off the wall in the living room. It was a lovely professionally taken photograph of myself and my first ex-wife with our three children. I carefully placed it in a drawer.

Later that first evening, little Miss Vibrant opened the drawer and found the photograph.

“What’s this?” she demanded as if she had caught me out in something.

“Oh, it’s just an old family photograph, why?”

“What, waiting to go back up on the wall as soon as you kick me out? ” she said accusingly.

“No, it came down off the wall so as to not make you feel uncomfortable. Besides, it’s a nice photo of the kids.”

“Liar,” she spat. “If you really cared about how I felt you would have got rid of it.”

I am still deeply saddened and ashamed of what I did next. I grabbed the photo, still in a nice frame and smashed it to pieces. I then ripped out the photo and tore it to shreds. it was the only copy and later, in private I wept buckets about what I had done.

“Happy now?” I said.

“What are you doing, are you mad?”

Somehow, I do not recall how we got over it. However, on reflection, I should have kept the photo and kicked her out for being so fucking insensitive about my feelings for my children. Secretly, I believe she was actually quite happy I had destroyed the photo. To her, it was proof that she meant more to me than my children did.

From that point on it only got worse and I have no idea why I did not dump her before I got in too deep. One night, about three o’clock in the morning, the nasty bitch placed her feet on the small of my back and launched me out of bed whilst I was fast asleep!

I hit the hardwood varnished floor very hard indeed. As I scrambled to my feet I asked her why she had done that. The snarly reply I got was “Well if you don’t know I’m not telling you.”

“What the fuck! I’m not a fucking somnambulistic mindreader for fucks sake.” I complained.

At that, she leapt out of bed and rushed at me, arms and legs flailing as she lashed out punching and kicking me. She scored with one well-aimed kick to my right knee, which left me lame for three days. My leg buckled as I backed up into the small en-suit toilet like a wounded dog. She just kept going with her vicious physical onslaught.

I somehow managed to scramble past her and ran to the spare bedroom where I had a set of bunk beds for when the children visited. She ran after me, pushed me to one side and tore all the bedding off the bunks.

I said nothing as I made my way past her to the top of the stairs. She reached out and grabbed my pyjama top and tore it off before she pushed me tumbling down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, I once again scrambled to my feet and headed through the kitchen to the living room. I was now fearful for my life, convinced that crazy bitch was going to kill me. looking back, I think had I not escaped she would have.

I grabbed my car and front door keys off a small nest of tables, pulled open the front door and stepped out in my bare feet into three feet of snow. All I had on me were my PJ bottoms.

By the time she could put on her shoes and step across the pavement to grab the door handle, just in the nick of time I clicked all of the car doors shut.

I started the car and made my way to my best friend’s house. I had to stand in his snow-covered garden in my bare feet to throw small stones at his bedroom window. In less than a minute he was at the window looking down at me. Less than a minute later the door opened and he beckoned me in. He made me a nice hot cup of tea and went upstairs to get me some blankets so I could sleep on his sofa.

At that point, I really should have just gone back home to kick the bitch out. To my everlasting regret, I stayed the course. Why? I will never really know. Maybe it was that anything goes unbridled sex, it’s the only reason I can think of. Thinking with my second dumbass brain. A man’s biggest enemy is his penis. I believe it is a condition technically referred to as ‘Cock happy’.

In the fullness of time, things settled down and we got married and had a child. Then we moved to live in the South of Spain, and that really was the beginning of the end.

Back in the UK, she had previously told me not to worry about seeing my three children after we moved to Spain as they could visit us anytime. However, once in Spain, she forbade me to have any more contact with them!

On reflection, I now know that this is a classic narcissistic move. Remove you from your loved ones in order to control you and deny you any family support.

Then came the beatings, the false accusations of infidelity, the ultra control of my personal finances, the lies to her family and friends, and the threats to kill me, herself and our son. It was nothing less than a living nightmare and, feeling trapped in a foreign country, I did not know which way to turn.

I had bought a new Volkswagen Passat costing me thirty thousand pounds cash, which she cajoled me into putting into her name, as a sign that I loved her.

Then I bought an off-plan new-build apartment with a fifty thousand pounds cash deposit. The money for the car and apartment came from the sale of my house back in the UK. She took me for the lot. And that was just the beginning!

Over the ensuing weeks and months, I had to tolerate all manner of ‘indiscretions,’ or physically violent attacks if you prefer.

One evening we were in the kitchen and I was putting clean dishes away. I placed a tea cup on a kitchen worktop and she chastised me as she boiled some water for cooking our food.

“That’s not where that goes,” she complained.

“Well it’s only for a minute, does it really matter?” I replied.

She spun around to the cooker, grabbed the pan full of boiling water and hurled it all over my left arm.

“Does that matter?” she said triumphantly.

I had to run out of the house, get in my car and rush myself to the general hospital for burns treatment. When I got back home six hours later I decided that for my own safety, I should just sleep in the car underneath our first floor balcony.

At about eight o’clock I ventured tentatively back into the rented apartment, only to ber accused of having spent the night with another woman. Showing her the hospital papers proved useless.

“Liar, you could have got those from anywhere. Who is she, come on, tell me the truth, liar,” she said.

The abuse just went on and on. Once she angrily poured a two litre bottle of water all over me as I drove us through heavy traffic in the city. A few times she forbade me to eat without her express permission. There was also another scary occasion when she angrily drove my car at about 90 kph through the city threatening to drive the car into a wall to kill me, our little boy and herself! There was so much abuse, I wonder how I put up with so much of it. You would have to ask another victim of domestic abuse.

And to deny me any support from her family, who I got on with quite well, she told them appalling lies about me and mistranslated every single thing I said to make me look bad.

Everything came to a head when one weekend she went to the coast to stay in her mother and father’s holiday apartment with our young son and her mother. I was not invited. Why? Because I was late getting back home with our son after a morning at the local Grand Prix circuit. For that, I apparently had to be punished.

On the following Monday, her mother arrived home alone, being dropped off by one of her other daughters. The mother immediately asked me to call her errant daughter and sort things out. So I called her and she told me to “Fuck off,” and slammed the phone down.

I called her again on Wednesday and again she told me where to get off. On Friday I had to go into town and agreed to drop something off for another sister. By mid-morning I was done and went to take a coffee and croissant at a city centre coffee bar. As I sat on the bar patio, enjoying being on my own, the mobile phone rang.

“Hello,” I said as I answered the call.

“It’s me,” she said angrily. “Why did you tell my mother I wouldn’t speak to you, lying bastard?”

“I am not a liar and you know it,” I replied.

Suddenly a couple of women who I did not know from Adam or Eve came to sit at the table next to me to take a coffee.

“Who’s that,” she demanded to know.

“I don’t know, just a couple of women come in to take a coffee next to my table,” I replied.

“Fucking liar,” she snarled. “You’re with another woman, who is she, what are you doing with her, what’s the bitch’s name?”

“I am not a liar, I do not know who the women are. I am on my own.”

“I don’t believe you. Get out of my mother’s house, right now, fucking leave!”

With that, the call ended. I got up, paid for my coffee and drove back to her mother’s house. I had an English class with a female solicitor called Steph in the garage office I had paid to have built and at the end of the class asked Steph to drop me off at a cheap hotel in town. Later the next day her mother told her I left with some woman, and that only served to confirm in her eyes that I was seeing another woman. It was somewhat ironic to discover that she had been having an affair with her boss at work. All along she was projecting onto me what she was up to.

Steph dropped me off in town and went back to her workplace. I booked myself into the hotel and then went for a walk in the city centre to clear my head.

For the first time in lord knows how long I felt good about myself. I had walked away from the monster and her atrocious behaviour and could hardly wait to tell her. I felt like a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. At the same time, I was a little concerned about the fact that there might be a vengeful reaction (there was and it lasted fifteen years!).

I was also concerned that she had my brand new car and all my worldly goods in her mother’s house, where we had gone to live whilst waiting for the new apartment I paid for to be built. The idea was to save the rent we had been paying to cover the purchase of furniture and domestic appliances when the newbuild was ready to move into.

As I strolled down the main street of the city I called her on the mobile phone. With more than a touch of triumph, I told her…

“Right, Madam, I am out, I have had enough of your malicious madness and I want my car and all my things back, now.”

“You’ve done what? Go back, go back, go back…” she screamed at me.

“No, I am not a fucking dog you can abuse and throw out then order back in. I’m done, finished, get over it.”

It was not lost on me that I was in a foreign country where I hardly spoke the language and had no immediate family or friends to support me. One or two people I knew, who I confided in a little about my plight, advised me to go back to the UK. That would have been admitting defeat. Whatever it took to survive, I was not about to let some jumped-up, narcissistic, viciously unbalanced little bitch do that to me. Besides, I had a beautiful young son who I loved very dearly indeed. There was no way I could abandon him to her madness.

What followed was nothing less than a total and utter nightmare. She refused to return to the city and give me my car, which fortunately, or so I thought, I still had the second key to.

She kept the car the whole summer long, which meant that I lost all of my vacationing students on the coast. The only way to get there was by car. She told me that I could have my car back at the end of the summer. With that promise I took out a car loan I could barely afford to buy a second-hand car. It was too late to save my Summer teaching work, but it did enable me to go back to my full-time temporary job teaching in the city.

At the end of the Summer, she returned to her mother’s house but refused to give me back my car. I never got the car back, she sold it and kept $25K all to herself.

After that, I tried to rebuild my life by opening my own language academy. That as it happened was very successful, until her scurrilous solicitor (abogado) demanded money for his client from my main client, a very big local school with which I had an excellent contrast to provide after-school classes at the school. I lost the client, who did not want to become embroiled in my personal problems.

I opened a piano bar, with me as the resident pianist. That too was very successful, until she caused me so many problems that the bar went out of business.

She did everything to destroy me at every given opportunity. I got up only to be pushed back down by her. One minute I was flying with the wind in my sails, the next I was back down on the bones of my arse.

One of her married ex-best friends, who with her husband had become my friend, told me that she would not stop until she had ground me to dust. It certainly felt like that.

In the end, I was forced to sell my second-hand car as I could not afford to run it. I bought a second-hand bike, which got stolen, which was also what happened to its replacement.

After losing the academy I turned to busking on the streets. Being a professionally trained pianist and guitarist I did ok. I didn’t earn enough to run a car, but enough to pay rent, buy food and pay the household bills. And as what I earned was just under the tax-free threshold, I did not have to worry about paying taxes.

That musical career lasted ten years until in 2020 I was taken seriously ill and forced to move to Japan for treatment which for no good reason I was being denied in Spain.

Going back to 2005, when I left that awful example of a human being, she not only stole and sold my car, but she also maliciously destroyed lots of personal belongings, stole my $2K custom-built business computer and threatened to burn my very valuable music instruments worth thousands.

Then she took out an injunction against me to prevent me from collecting my son for the visits the divorce court judge had given me. She also went to the boy’s school and demanded that I be erased from all school records, which thankfully they refused to do and threatened to call the police on her due to her violent behaviour towards them when they would not do as she bade.

In time, I was able to make arrangements to gain access to my son via a third-party business called Meeting Point appointed by the courts.

Between 2005 and 2020, I lost count of how many times I had to go to court due to one maliciously false claim after another. Almost every single week, every month, every year, for fifteen years!!!

One case involved me winning my claim for the car and the apartment. She was furious that I had won that case on the basis I had proven with paperwork that the money for both was originally mine and she had zero to do with the earning of it.

The very same day I went home at about midnight, unaware that she was waiting for me in the carpark. As I walked from my car to the apartment block she suddenly jumped out of the shadows and physically attacked me. I called the police and they refused to come out to assist me. I had to stumble to my car, get in, lock the doors and drive off. Worse still was yet to come.

She telephoned my best friend in the UK and asked him if he would travel to Spain and report me to the police, telling them that I had asked him to find me a contract killer to see her off! WTF!!!

Of course, he refused and asked her why he should tell that awful lie. Her reply was “I want my revenge, the bastard won his case against me for the car and the apartment. I want to teach him a lesson he will never forget.”

Did I ever get the money for the car and apartment? No, not a cent of it, nothing but more trouble.

At the same time all of the above was going on, she was constantly visiting the courts to try to get me sent to jail. There were dozens of trials, and I was found innocent at every single one of them.

One stand-out case involved a T-shirt belonging to my son. One weekend he was with me and stained his T-shirt with tomato puree. Just before I returned him I put the T-shirt in the wash. At her house, she demanded that I go back home and retrieve the item immediately. Since it was a long drive and I had work to go to, I said no. Two days later I was summonsed to court for theft of clothes. When I told the female judge the truth she got angry and threw the case out of court. That sort of nonsense was never-ending.

Her final horrible trick was to leave Spain and kidnap my son, whose mind she had poisoned against me. That was in 2014 and I have not heard a single word from him since. This year he will be 23 years old and I know nothing about him, where he is, what he is doing, nothing.

I did try to trace him, but unfortunately, the authorities in Spain and the UK believed her plethora of malicious lies about me and declined to help me.

In 2015, after being on my own for a decade and quite misogynistic due to the appalling treatment I had been subject to, by pure chance I met a Japanese woman who totally blew me away with her kindness and excellent behaviour. In 2017 we got married and we are still blissfully in love with each other.

The only hangover from that awful experience is a raft of health problems, a heart attack, and a stroke…both brilliantly treated by the Japanese Medical profession. I now live in peace and harmony about an hour or so from Tokyo. I have never been so happy for many a year. It truly is amazing what you can get through when you have to.

The one singular benefit of my almost twenty-five years in Spain is due to the shit I was put through, I became highly fluent in Spanish, which I am quite proud of. All I have to do now is continue with my Japanese studies. Matane, nay.