Exposed! Hubby’s six-year sex spree
My hubby was loyal alright – a loyal ‘punter’...
The engine roared as the Mustang pulled into our drive. Grinning, my husband Gerard, then 30, climbed out from behind the wheel. ‘She’s all yours,’ he said. Bursting with excitement, I ran over and wrapped my arms around his neck. ‘Really?’ I cried.
It was 2013 and Gerard and I were enjoying our life in Florida.
We had a propertymaintenance business. A gorgeous house. Fancy cars, jewellery... I wanted for nothing. And we were expecting our first child.
I couldn’t have been happier.
I’d been on a girls’ week in Spain when
I’d met Gerard, then 19, in 2003.
Our holiday romance was hot and heavy. With Gerard in Scotland and me in Manchester, I thought it was just a fling.
Only, he couldn’t stay away, and within three months he’d moved in. He proposed not long later. ‘I love you,’ he whispered at our 2006 wedding.
Three years on, we moved to Florida to be near Gerard’s parents.
Built up our business. And now, with a shiny new Mustang in the drive, we were reaping the rewards.
‘We’re living the American dream,’ I grinned, running my hand over the bonnet.
It was all thanks to Gerard’s hard work.
So I never questioned it when he was late home night after night.
And when
I found out I was pregnant in
2013, he was working longer hours than ever.
It’s all for our baby, I thought.
I spent my nights alone, reading books and watching TV.
‘You know how it is, my meetings ran on,’ he’d shrug, shuffling through the door.
And when our daughter was born later that year, Gerard got stuck in.
Was a hands-on dad, taking us on days out.
Life couldn’t have been sweeter.
Only one night in July 2015, Gerard crashed out in bed early.
Poor bloke’s exhausted,
I thought, covering him with the duvet.
He’d nodded off before setting the alarm on his mobile phone, so I reached over to do it for him.
Just then a text flashed up. I’m back in town, it said. You haven’t been to see me in a while...same donations as usual.
A nervous knot squeezed my stomach.
What does that mean?
As Gerard slept, I scurried into the bathroom.
Locked the door, started scrolling through his texts.
There were reams of messages discussing rates, half hours, full hours… Suddenly, it clicked. She was an escort – and she was back in town, available to see her most loyal client...
Gerard!
‘What the hell is this?’ I screamed, waking him up.
His face drained of colour as I thrust his phone at him.
‘Babe, it must be spam texts,’ he stuttered. ‘I promise, it’s nothing to
I never questioned it when he was late home
worry about.’
I sunk into the bed, my head in my hands.
Gerard was convincing, and I wanted to believe him.
But after a fitful night’s sleep, it was still niggling me, so I logged into Gerard’s emails on his computer.
He’s hiding something,
I thought.
Guessing his password, I found emails from other escorts, even some from couples on hook-up sites.
This time, when I confronted Gerard, he confessed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he pleaded. ‘It was a stupid thing, Donna.’
During an ugly, tearful and agonising row, he insisted he’d never intended to meet any of the women.
When I told him I needed space, he wrote me a letter.
It didn’t mean anything, please let me make it up to you, he begged in it.
But I was like a dog with a bone.
Obsessively checking every phone and account he owned.
And the more I looked, the more I found.
Over the next six months, I found secret phones Gerard had stashed around the house.
All used to contact different sex workers.
I’m attached, need discreet regular to escape 2...
At work, lookin’ for lunchtime fun!
Available 2moro night? I’m married & can’t call…
We rowed constantly as Gerard’s dark double life unravelled and more sordid secrets spilled out.
The pig!
As I pieced it together, I realised that Gerard’s cheating went back six years.
He’d been paying for sex on a weekly basis the entire time we’d lived in Florida.
He must’ve been at it while I was pregnant, I thought.
But it wasn’t just the betrayal.
Gerard had blown tens of thousands of our hard-earnt cash on prostitutes.
‘We were so young when we got together,’ Gerard pleaded during one bust up. ‘I gave up my youth for you.’ Pathetic.
I’d moved continents for Gerard, slogged my guts out for his business, nurtured our family.
What does he know about sacrifice?
Yet every time I tried to leave, Gerard fell to pieces.
Unable to bear the pain of losing his family.
Despite everything he’d put me through, I hated seeing him so distraught.
Not to mention the idea of putting our little girl through a painful divorce.
But can I move past his cheating?
That’s when Gerard suggested moving back to the UK.
‘It’ll be a fresh start,’ he promised.
‘I want to show you I’m serious about us.’
It’d mean giving up everything we’d worked for. Selling everything.
But I agreed, hoping it’d save our marriage.
We returned in June 2017, moving to Scotland, and although it hasn’t been easy, Gerard has done everything he can to make it up to me.
He keeps his phone in the open at all times.
Calls me whenever he goes to the shops.
Agreed for me to keep tabs on him via GPS.
It sounds extreme – but he shredded my trust, and we have to rebuild it piece by piece.
Our daughter, now seven, is happy, settled, and I know that our family is worth fighting for.
But the whole ordeal has changed me as a person.
It’s not just Gerard I can’t trust, it’s anyone I meet.
And though I do believe he’s learnt from his mistakes, I’m scared he’ll give in to temptation one day.
Betray me all over again. Because, while I’ve learnt to forgive Gerard’s cheating, I’ll certainly never forget.
‘STUPID BOY’
Gerard says, ‘I was sick to my stomach, to be honest with you. I was a silly, stupid young boy. I didn’t realise what I had, it was awful. Not a day goes by that I don’t pay for it. I’ll be making up for it for the rest of my life but I don’t mind, it’s a small price to pay.’