Peering through a gap in the curtains at my car parked on the street, I shuddered in fear as I realised it had been scratched again. It was May 2021 and I’d not long moved into my new home with my two kids Sophie*, then eight, and William*, five. I was a single mum and our new home wasn’t in a very nice neighbourhood. Parking outside was supposed to be on a first come, first served basis. But other residents had started shouting abuse at me and damaged my car in retaliation for taking ‘their’ spaces.
It was taking its toll on my mental health and I had become a quivering wreck. I hated leaving the house to go to my office job or take the kids to school as I was terrified of the abuse I would receive. I called the police more than 20 times and eventually, they sent two officers out to me.
One of them was PC Jonathan Simon and he put me at ease, telling me they’d sort the issue. ‘I’m so relieved that somebody is finally listening,’ I said, before bursting into tears and revealing that I was worried for my safety.
I filled out a form and they promised to log the case. But Jonathan returned later that day without his colleague. ‘I really want to help with your case,’ he assured me.
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As we sat on the sofa and he listened, taking notes, I felt safe and supported for the first time in a long while. When he placed his hand on my shoulder reassuringly, it was comforting and I found myself sobbing into his arms as he embraced me.
Before I knew it, he was touching me all over, and I accepted his advances. One thing led to another, and we ended up having sex. It all happened so fast, but Jonathan was so kind, I had no regrets.
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