The telegraph
‘The day I found out my husband was a pedophile’
It was a Friday morning in the summer and I was getting ready for work when the doorbell rang. How strange, I thought, for someone to show up so early – it was only 7:00. The next thing I knew, the house was taken over by police. From the window, I could see two police cars parked in the garage of our Midlands home, which I shared with my 25-year-old husband – the loving father of our two adult daughters, who were attending college. I had no idea what was going on. Not even when my husband and a police officer came into our room where, moments before, I put on makeup before going to high school where I worked as a teacher. My husband was also a high school teacher, but everything was about to collapse. “The police are searching the house and are going to arrest me for seeing indecent images,” he told me bluntly. I was totally confused. This was the man I loved. How can this be happening? I am not alone for having gone through this. The national campaign Stop It Now! The helpline provides support for people concerned about their own sexual or other people’s thoughts and conduct towards children and young people. Last year, 3,553 people in the UK contacted the hotline with concerns about online sexual behaviors with children, including more than 1,000 people who were concerned about someone else’s online behavior. The pandemic contributed to an increase in calls – between June and August 2020, the helpline was contacted by 47 percent more people compared to the three months of the first blockade. With family and friends spending more time together, the warning signs have apparently become more evident. The Stop It Now! The helpline, dedicated to reducing the risk of children being sexually abused, is encouraging others to call if they know or suspect that a loved one is viewing sexual images of children under 18 online. But it did not occur to me that my own husband could have followed that path. We met in the early 1990s and quickly realized how much we had in common. In 1992, we got married and formed a family two years later. When our daughters grew up and left home, we were looking forward to having a little more freedom, including traveling. Our marriage was very good, or so I believed. We could have had a normal life and a comfortable retirement. I’m not saying that things were perfect. My husband had a history of depression, which had come and gone over the years. Looking back, I can see that there were some red flags – but nothing that could have alerted me to the truth. He was having trouble sleeping and used to stay up late at his computer downstairs. He said he was looking at forums about things that interested him, which made sense, since he was always quite obsessive: about extreme exercises, diets and sports for spectators. I went to bed and left him there, and he often never went up. He fell asleep on the couch, where I would find him fully dressed in the morning. He told me that he was concerned about work and whether his job was safe. I could see that it was putting him down, so I encouraged him to seek help. I later learned that he was about to confess his actions to the general practitioner. But he dodged, bothered to reveal something so disturbing to the young idiot who saw him. Innocently, I warned you to be careful online. “Be careful not to trip over something you wish you hadn’t found,” I said. He looked me in the eye and replied, “I wouldn’t do anything illegal that could put my career or our marriage at risk.” Except he was already. And the police were now breaking into my house, seizing all of our electronic devices and putting them in evidence bags. My husband and I were escorted down the stairs to the living room. We were not allowed to speak to each other in private. He was shaking when I asked, “Is that true?” He simply repeated: “I am not a pedophile”. Initially I believed him. Someone must have armed him, I thought. Perhaps a malicious alumnus. “This is the type of crime that separates families,” said the investigating policeman before taking him in for questioning, leaving me alone and confused. I didn’t hear anything for hours, so I finally called the station and was invited to pick up my husband at 8 pm. It was still warm and clear when I got in the car. A pleasant evening for some. My husband was brought in from an interview room. He looked chastened, exhausted and sweaty. For the first time since his arrest, I was able to speak to him alone. And it was then that he confessed. “I am addicted to pornography,” he said. “I have seen pornography for the past 10 years. For the past two years, I have seen indecent images. ” Of children. I had no words at the beginning; I just let out a scream. I had to leave that cell-like room, away from its wall of breeze blocks and plastic chairs. It was all I could do to get us safely home. That night we talked. “You betrayed us,” I said. “You have been lying to all of us.” He told me how depressed and sorry he was. When I called my sister the next morning, she advised me to leave the house, for the sake of my teaching career. She sent a friend to pick me up and stay with me for a week. Sitting in the passenger seat of this woman’s car, I looked out the window. Nothing seemed real. I saw my neighbors standing, wondering what was going on. I feared that they had seen the police attacking our home the day before. I felt dissociated from the world and totally numb. The following week, I saw a lawyer to start my divorce. Some women choose to stay with their partners after being caught. But I could never have rebuilt a relationship of trust and equality with mine after our marriage was betrayed. Most urgently, I needed to tell my daughters. That was as terrible as you can imagine. My oldest daughter was crying, shocked and full of questions. Her younger sister bent over herself and was unable to deal with it. There was a long wait before my husband’s case reached the crown court. It turned out that he saw a large number of images, many in the highest category of offense. He was sentenced to the community, however, went into therapy and was included in the sex offender registry. I tried to get back to work, but it only lasted two weeks. I was bursting into tears the whole time and struggling to concentrate. Back home alone (my husband had moved to a van), I was constantly afraid of an attack by security guards. I felt so scared and alone. Stop it now! it was a total godsend. Through the helpline, I spoke with counselors and found security. Since then, I moved and got married again; I left teaching and found another job. Four years later, the wounds practically healed. My ex-husband and I have little contact these days. Someone in your family disinherited you. Our daughters never did. I hope that if I tell my story there is something good, it will be that other people will seek the help they need before it is too late. * The name has been changed as informed to Rosa Silverman