How i got tricked into marrying pure evil

“The Man who married pure evil"

A 14-year account of love, survival, betrayal, and fatherhood in a broken system.

2012 – The Night It All Began

I was in my mid-30s. A broken man, really. I’d spent years trying to shake off the dust of rejection, childhood trauma, time in care homes, and an adolescence marked by survival rather than growth. That night, in a pub in Reading, I met her—Siana.

She was loud, fiery, surrounded by friends. And within 10 minutes, we were outside in the car park, snogging like hormonal teenagers. That was the start. That same night, I followed her back to what she called “home.” It was more of a den. The place was overrun with drug users—crackheads, cokeheads. There was a child upstairs—her daughter, only six. I took my Rolex off and left it in the bathroom. Someone nicked it. I got it back, but the moment marked something: that first feeling of being on edge around her.

I kicked everyone out. I couldn’t believe she had her daughter in that house. I thought I was helping. I thought I was restoring order. She seemed like a lost soul. Someone I could help. She liked coke. Not occasionally—regularly. People rang me within days. Warning me. Telling me to run. I didn’t. I thought I was sent by God to save her.

2013 – Madness Disguised as Love

I moved in the next day. Things moved fast—too fast. People were mocking me on BBM (Blackberry Messenger back then). “Another stepdad,” they said. I didn’t get it. I didn’t want to. I thought she was being bullied. I defended her to everyone. My heart was huge but fragile. She knew how to play it.

She made me feel like a king. Back rubs. Ironing my socks. Cooking meals. Jumping up to fetch me a drink before I even stood. But it was all too perfect. A performance. I was too damaged to see it. I absorbed the affection like a man dying of thirst.

Then the cracks appeared—literal ones. She binged. Coke, booze. Stories emerged. A friends childhood pay out of £40,000 drained by her in a toxic lesbian relationship, soon as the money was smoked she dumped her.. Nights out, drugs, betrayal. I started getting into trouble again. Stolen cars. I fled to Spain to escape the heat.

2013–2014 – In Prison, 

She stayed behind. More stories surfaced. Her in pubs. Her with exes. Crack pipes. Still, I clung to the idea of her. I was in prison by 2013. Thirteen months. When you’re locked up, any contact from the outside feels like salvation.

She lived rent-free at my mum’s house. Told me she was saving for our future. £800 this month. £900 that month. She worked as a receptionist at a GP practice in Reading. I believed her. I was planning my escape from crime—wanted to become a gas engineer. The Gas Safe course was my ticket. I wrote business plans in the library. Used prison toothpaste and shampoo to save the few pounds I had, just so I could call her daily.

Then came the visit. She was bigger, around 14 stone. Her and her daughter sat stuffing crisps in the visit room. I’d been in the gym daily. I said something. It didn’t go down well. She sulked for days. But we got over it, or at least I thought we did.

When I got out, silence filled the car. She handed me £40. That was it. No savings. No plan. Just lies. She had sniffed her wages for 13 months while my mum fed her and sheltered her. I was heartbroken. Still, I stayed.

2015 – Roni Arrives

She got pregnant. My daughter, Roni, was born. I was back inside briefly for an old charge—nine more months. Got released in Kent. She picked me up in the Mercedes I bought. Took me to a council house in Newbury. The place was bare. Not even a sofa. I worked nonstop. Bought furniture, TVs, wooden floors. I was trying to build a home. But she was distant. No affection. No love. I blamed myself again.

my daughter Joanna 11, came to live with us. She was getting bullied and needed out of Reading. She shared a room with Siana’s daughter. Tensions rose. I tried to balance the attention. I didn’t want Siana’s daughter to feel replaced.

But the relationship became a power game. Her parents ruled the roost. I was a lodger. Not on the rent book. I paid all the bills. Her money was her money. She got paid Thursdays—usually about £300 in child tax credit. By Friday, she’d be asking me to top her up. If I questioned it, I was “controlling.” So I stayed quiet. Simped. I just wanted the family to work, even putting up with the presnet of her daughter leaving Joanna out, Christmas sat round while her daughter ripped open presents from her parents while Joanna had none. 

2016–2018 – The escape plan

I finally did my Gas Safe course. 5am starts, eight weeks straight. Got qualified. Started my plumbing business. By 2018, I was earning £30K a month. That money gave me confidence. I started to understand who I really was. I stopped tolerating the abuse. Her daughter stealing from me. The verbal threats. I left.

Rented a cottage nearby. Kept Joanna in the same school. Siana used to bring the kids. It was on and off. Then came the twins.

2018–2019 – Twins & a New Beginning

In 2018, Harper and Hannah were born.

A year later, in 2019, I rented the big house in Kingsclere. That was my attempt to rebuild us as a family. A second chance. I had the girls around me again—Roni, Harper, Hannah. That was more important than anything else. But Siana’s addiction got worse.

She started using the money I earned to buy cocaine. Smoking crack with her friends. Hiding it from me. It was getting darker. More desperate. But I stayed—for the kids.

2020 – The Tragedy That Changed Everything

March 2020. Lockdown. We left the house for a short drive to clear the air. The girls stayed behind with Joanna and Mikee.

We came back to find Hannah—17 months old—dead.

The rest is a blur. Following the ambulance. The hospital. The cold room. Twelve hours next to her lifeless body. Her parents hating me. No one coming to support me.

Three months later, we held the funeral in the garden of Kingsclere. A marquee. White clothes. Thousands of flowers. I spent tens of thousands making it beautiful. I honoured her.

That was the last time we were a family.

2020–2021 – Spain & the Irish Blessing

I took Siana and the kids to Spain. Hoped for healing. But she couldn’t handle being sober. I banned weed, drink, coke. She cracked. Caused chaos. Left. Took the kids.

I stayed in Spain. Tried to find myself. That’s when I met her—an Irish girl. Kind, calm, intelligent. No drugs. No games. She showed me what love actually feels like. It took me months to let her in.

2021–2024 – The Best Dad I Could Be

I returned to England. Fought for contact. Got it. I rented big houses. Private schools. Ride-on lawnmowers. I gave Roni  & Harper the life they deserved.

I had the girls four nights a week. Weekends. Private school for Roni—Gabriels in Newbury. Nearly £70,000 spent. Swimming, tennis, adventures. Laughter. I was their dad in every way. then Spain for 3 months having he girls over 10 days a month.

2024 – The Cut-Off

May 2024. It ended. She demanded more money. I refused. She blocked me. No calls. No visits. No updates. I called the police. Social services. Her parents. Nothing. They all said, “The children are safe.”

I took her to court. Cafcass spun the narrative. I was painted as dangerous. She made false claims—about me, my son. Even claimed abuse to get legal aid.

But I’ve never been arrested for violence. Never convicted for abuse. My last offence was over a decade ago. What I am is a father. A man who stayed.

Sh was arrested for drug driving, cocaine and weed in her blood, she now facing a ban. but all this is blamed on me, I made her did it by causing her stress with the court cases. 

2025 – Where We Are Now

Here we are. June 2025.Still fighting to see my children. Now fighting just for a phone call.

People call me the monster. The bad man. But look at the facts. What have I done? Everything that’s happened—her losing her job, her drug-driving arrest—that’s all her. That’s on her. There’s a saying: Don’t throw stones if you live in a glass house.

She threw the first stone. Karma’s catching up with her. There is no reason—none—for her to hold the children hostage. To kidnap them emotionally.

If you can’t see that, you’re a fool. A big fool. She’s a professional con artist. She recruits people. I’ve got stories—her visiting mates of mine in Surrey, spinning lies, painting me as abusive to gain sympathy. To gain legal aid. She’s done it all before. This woman is an animal.

And me? All I’ve done is fight for the girls to have a daddy.

Watch the video of the abuse i suffered