I lived in a £2.5m home with two children at boarding school… but I couldn’t afford a £3.50 coffee with the other mums. To everyone else my life was perfect – but this is how I was being abused by my cruel husband

At the school pick-up on the first day of term, I looked like any other of the expensively dressed mothers in my new Miu Miu outfit. I was keen to hear how my then three-year-old daughter Tilly had enjoyed her first day with her big brother.

In spite of the astronomical fees, my 18-month-old, asleep in his pram, was also down on the waiting list. So too the baby I was expecting in four months’ time.

But when the other mothers suggested we continue our chat in Starbucks, panic surged inside me and my hands grew clammy. Tilly took the hand of her playmate and ran towards the coffee shop a few doors down. But inside, I told the other mums I’d had too many coffees already and only ordered tap water.

The truth was I was dying for a latte, but I didn’t have the £3.50 on my card to buy it.

I looked like I lived an enviable lifestyle, with all the trappings my wealthy husband’s salary could buy. But behind closed doors, he ensured I never had any funds of my own. Coffees with friends, let alone lunches or evening drinks, were out. I was constantly turning down social invitations, which increased my sense of isolation.

For over 20 years, my husband Simon, a 64-year-old banking analyst, has controlled me and my every move with money – or lack of it. If I dare to protest, he stops payments into our joint account – my only access to cash.

Despite living in a six-bedroom, gated, detached house, my two youngest children are on free school meals and at our lowest point, we’ve even been forced to use food banks.

Economic abuse, which is a criminal offence, involves the control of a partner or ex-partner’s finances, restricting access to money or building up debt in a victim’s name. It can also prevent the victim from working and staying connected to friends and family.

According to the charity Surviving Economic Abuse, 95 per cent of women who experience domestic abuse report experiencing economic abuse. And terrifyingly, one in six women in the UK has experienced financial abuse in a current or former relationship in the past year.

In my own case, Simon wouldn’t risk letting his ‘trophy wife’ out to catch the eye of another man. He worked out our expenses down to the last penny and would cover all our bills himself. He’d order the weekly Ocado delivery to avoid having to give me money that I might fritter away elsewhere.

Even though we have been separated for seven years – since he was forcibly removed from our home after a domestic violence incident – his control over me has only escalated. I have repeatedly tried to divorce him but he warned that the children and I would never see another penny if I went through with it; that we’d be homeless and out on the street.

When we met in a bar when I was 38, I had a good career in fashion PR and owned a two-bed flat in west London. Jaw-droppingly handsome, easy-going and attentive, Simon wasted no time in asking me out on a date, and then another. On the third date, he proposed, and while it now sounds completely irrational, I accepted.

Within six months, we were married and I was pregnant.

The first year of our marriage was idyllic. He showered me with gifts and made me feel like the most special woman alive. I’ve since learned that ‘love-bombing’ is a textbook early indication of coercive control. He persuaded me to sell my flat and when we bought our £2.5million home, the mortgage was in his name.

This was a catastrophic mistake. But instead of questioning it, I was grateful he was taking care of everything, especially when he said he’d take over all the utilities and maintenance costs. Whatever I needed, I just had to ask. It all seemed too good to be true, and it was.

After our first child, a boy, was born, he made every decision right down to the food we ate and where we’d go on holiday. If I protested about his choice, he’d cancel.

Slowly I realised I was being isolated from my friends. There was never any spare cash for me to go out with them on my own. When I dared to confide in two of them, he accessed our messages and threatened them. He did his very best to turn my family against me, too, lying to them that I was having affairs.

Sarah says she has repeatedly tried to divorce Simon but he warned that she and the children would never see another penny if Sarah went through with it

When our son was eight months old, he stopped me from returning to work (and relative independence) by claiming he couldn’t afford a nanny. His salary was in excess of £1million; he could’ve afforded a creche full of nannies.

Since I had no job, no social life, Simon made a simple argument for why I didn’t need my own money. I began to spiral into despair and was desperate to escape our home, which had cameras installed in every room and at every corner of the exterior.

Hating being spied on, I would spend whole days out with our baby on Hampstead Heath. I’d take snacks and enough water to last the day, knowing I couldn’t pop into a cafe if I felt peckish.

But still I stayed, unsure how I could ever leave – I had nothing, after all. We had three more children. When a close friend I’d confided in offered me a secret job with her jewellery business several years later, she set up an account to pay my earnings into. For six months, I had my own income which Simon knew nothing about. Even though I couldn’t spend it openly, it enabled me to have coffee like a normal school mum, and buy small personal items. And as my friend said, it gave me an ‘escape fund’ should I ever need it.

Then I made a slip. I ordered a series of first-edition books worth over £2,000 for my mother’s 80th birthday and although I’d entered her address as the delivery address, they arrived at the billing address – our home – and under my name. Simon received them and gave me a two-hour grilling as to how I obtained the money.

His black moods were terrifying; he’d come close to me and stare, tightening his hands around my neck. At 6ft 5in, he was an intimidating presence. Eventually I confessed – but he simply accused me of having an affair, saying a man must be giving me money. I was so terrified I would sleep on my children’s floors with my phone in my hand, poised to press 999.

Simon then wrote to my friend and her husband, saying if they ever ‘coerced’ me into hiding things from him again, he would contact his solicitors. That ended the one friendship I had left.

Typically, my punishment was meted out through the children. For example, Simon stopped paying the school fees, leaving me to deal with relentless demands. Only when they threatened court action did he resume payment.

As our children grew up, Simon’s control intensified. He opened a new finance consultancy firm in Leicestershire. This meant an even larger house, complete with state-of-the-art camera systems and smart new schools.

Our two eldest, by now in their teens, were weekly boarders and gradually started to make excuses not to come home at weekends. They saw how spending was tightly controlled by him, and that I had no financial independence.

Our eldest son was 13 when he started to challenge Simon each time he spoke roughly to me or accused me of having an affair. On one mortifying occasion, Simon accused his teacher at a parents’ evening of having flirted with me. Beside himself with embarrassment, our son couldn’t restrain his anger back at home.

Simon looked at him coldly and told him that if he ever spoke to his father like that again, he could forget about his expensive school and designer trainers. He would be sent to our local comprehensive that was in special measures. This was eight years ago and, knowing the time had come to plan our escape, I told Simon I was going for an interview at the PR department of my old firm. The job was more or less guaranteed.

My interview was for 5pm and incredibly Simon promised he would collect our two youngest children from their after-school tennis club. I was 15 minutes into pitching ideas when the coach called to say Simon hadn’t turned up. He then texted to say he was unable to do pick-up after all. Making hurried excuses, I fled the building and hailed a taxi home. The job was given to someone else.

In the end, it was Simon’s increasing outbursts of violence that forced our separation. Furious with me for returning home later than anticipated from a doctor’s appointment – I’d taken the opportunity to go for a walk – he threw the steaming hot leftovers of the evening’s meal to the floor and hurled a kitchen knife at the wall.

Our youngest, then nine, was upstairs crying and Simon followed me as I went to comfort her. I begged him to control his temper but he was enraged. Frightened for our safety, I started to dial 999. I felt a sharp pain in my elbow as he jerked my arm back and ripped the phone from my hand.

Later, when he was asleep, I retrieved my phone and called the police. He was forcibly removed from the house and detained. Specially trained police officers sat with me for six hours as I poured out my story of having my life taken over by my husband. One told me, ‘Yours is a textbook case of coercive control’.

Since Sarah had no job and no social life, Simon made a simple argument for why she didn’t need her own money

Sadly, my nightmare didn’t end there. Even though I was granted a non-molestation order with Simon banned from coming within a half-mile radius of our home, he tightened the financial control – and intimidation.

He moved into a flat a five-minute drive from us and would message me, ‘You look nice in that dress’, or ‘I can see you’ve had your hair done’. It was chilling.

He continued to pay for the upkeep of the house and the school fees just as before. The cameras meant that if he saw me going out in the evening or a visitor came to the house, the payments would stop for a month.

He would do the grocery shop and sometimes breached the restraining order to deliver the food to our doorstep, twice letting himself in and wordlessly packing the items into the fridge.

He knew I wouldn’t call the police as that would mean immediate imprisonment. I couldn’t do that to the father of my children.

On one of these occasions, I told him I wanted a divorce. He stared at me with cold eyes that sent a shiver down me and said, ‘If you ever divorce me, you and the children will never see another penny.’ To ensure I understood, he stopped paying all the bills for two months, building up debts I had no means of clearing.

I tried attending another job interview, carefully covering my tracks. But on reaching the offices, there was Simon pacing up and down outside the glass entrance.

He seemed to know my every move, where I was going and who I was meeting. My legal aid matrimonial solicitor was sure he was monitoring my computer and phone. Terrified, I dropped the divorce proceedings. As I stepped outside my solicitor’s office, Simon texted me ‘Well done’ and rewarded me with a gift voucher for the local spa.

That was four years ago and I am still not divorced. I am fighting in the courts for spousal and child maintenance. Neither of which Simon has paid while repeatedly breaching court orders to cover our living expenses.

With one of our children at university and in receipt of a student loan, and my youngest two now at an outstanding state grammar school, he is no longer able to use the school fees as a bargaining tool. Instead he has put the house on the market without consulting me. He knows that our children and I face homelessness and even their distress doesn’t deter him.

He has dragged me through the courts four times this year, appealing to the judge that he has run out of money, while hiding bank accounts and financial assets.

The children and I have not seen a penny from him for two years. I have started freelancing and recently set up my own business thanks to an emergency grant from Women’s Aid, but my meagre income is not a fraction of what’s required to cover our expenses.

On top of this, he recently transferred the utilities accounts into my name and left me liable for a £16,000 bill for roof repairs.

I have been plunged into debt, with my youngest children now in receipt of free school meals. This is possible because the house is in Simon’s name and they live with me as their sole carer. I have to submit bank statements to show that we live in poverty.

On four occasions, we’ve even been forced to use food banks.

And heartbreakingly, my eldest daughter left university at the end of her first term to take a supermarket job to help make ends meet. She has since set up her own online business.

My only consolation is that she says she will never marry a man who denies her financial independence. The trouble is, it’s only after your wedding day that you truly know the kind of man you have married.

Sarah Kingford is a pseudonym. Names and identifying details have been changed

Contact womensaid.org.uk or survivingeconomicabuse.org