When I made the decision to move to Spain, I knew deep down that if he came with me, my long-standing dream would be short-lived. It didn’t matter what it was—reuniting with family after years apart, seeing my son again after 15 years, visiting Australia to embrace my daughter, moving house, or finally arriving at my dream home in Spain—he would always find a way to ruin it. Every time. Always.

He turned joyous occasions into battlegrounds, casting a shadow over every holiday, birthday, and special event. Even moments that should have been sacred—his own daughter’s wedding—became tainted by his toxicity. There was no exception, no respite. His presence ensured that happiness was fleeting, that peace was unattainable.

When I discovered letters on the computer, the evidence of his nature was there in black and white—vindictive, cruel, and relentless in his attacks on his ex-wife. It was never just me. He could not bear for anyone to have any enjoyment, any moment of pure happiness. His venom was not selective; it was aimed at everyone who dared to find joy.

And that is why I no longer take it personally. I see it for what it is. It was never about me—it was about him and his inability to allow light to exist in a world he sought to control.

Now, as I stand in the aftermath, I see the truth clearly. The dream he tried to destroy? It is still mine. The love he tried to sever? It has only grown stronger. The happiness he tried to extinguish? It thrives in the freedom I have reclaimed.

Toxic people create toxic environments, but I refuse to live under that cloud any longer. The past may be filled with moments he tainted, but my future is mine alone. And it is bright.