It was my son’s birthday, a day that should have been about him, about cake, presents, laughter and normality.
My last text to Arthur was 19.09, just before it was my son’s bedtime. While putting him to bed, my son started crying because he’d had such a lovely birthday and didn’t want it to end. He was my priority.
At 20.01:
A: I take it your (sp) not happy with me? Xxxx
Me: I can't reply properly as (my son) is upset. Will message when he's gone to sleep.
Instead of waiting, Arthur started sending me many cryptic messages. He text and said he’d been sick, was shaking, felt dizzy and that he might pass out. Saying he was so surprised as he didn’t usually get sick like this. Then, he dropped in that he’d had seizures in the past. This had never been discussed at all.
A: When I had had my seizures years ago I was took (sp) to hospital and my ex-wife didn't even come with me. She didn't love me like you do. I know you'd come. I feel really dizzy and not good.
A: I was sick again.
A: I'm not feeling great, I've been sick twice.
A: I'm shaking now and feel dizzy.
A: I feel you would be better off without me.
A: I wish you were here.
A: I feel really funny and dizzy.
He knew I couldn’t leave my child in bed alone… didn’t he? Did he really want me to chose him over my son? The messages felt carefully designed, with enough detail to scare me, enough vulnerability to pull at me, enough drama to shift my attention away from my child. He kept saying he didn’t want to worry me. But every message did exactly that.
Once my son was asleep, knowing I couldn’t leave my son, I was still shocked with the seizure information so I asked Arthur to call his brother to go and sit with him or take him up to hospital if needed. He thanked me for caring and told me I was the best. He said he’d never had someone look after him like I did and continued to compare me to ex-partners who didn’t care. Told me he’d be heartbroken to lose me. Wrapped fear, flattery and guilt into the same breath.
Then, he sent a final message. It was a string of random letters, like something had happened to him mid-text.
A: I’ll be fine I’m not trying to worry you, I’ll be ok bb bbiiikknn
I text. I called. He was silent. Not a thing until the next morning.
Knowing I couldn’t leave the house, he’d left me anxious all night, on my son’s birthday, torn between being present with my child and worrying that something had happened to him. Was he ok, had his brother turned up, had he gone to hospital, had he had a seizure?
Looking back now, I can see exactly what he was doing. It was a test. Would I stay with my son, or would I drop everything and run to him? I failed this test without even knowing it was a test. It wasn’t a choice for me. My son was in bed, I could NOT leave him alone in the house.
Early on, when you talk about life, experiences, when you’re getting to know all about each other, I’d told Arthur that an ex‑partner had epilepsy and how terrified I used to feel during his (my ex’s) seizures. He took that fear and used it as a tool. The seizures, the dizziness, the shaking weren’t confessions, they were hooks.
He used his ‘illnesses’ (and there were many more that came out) throughout the relationship, always at moments when he wanted my attention, my panic, my loyalty. And the truth only surfaced near the end, via a family member. He’d never had epilepsy, never had seizures, not once.
Every episode was manufactured to pull me closer, to make me choose him over my own life, over my own child. My son came first. Arthur didn’t. He knew he needed to push me harder. Even at the very beginning, he was trying to pull my attention away from my own life and toward him.
