This week I was feeling so positive.
I had been tackling things that usually drain me — clearing paperwork, checking items off my list, even completing an online interview. For once, I felt like I was standing on solid ground. I could almost believe in a future where I wasn’t drowning in stress, legal battles, or constant reminders of trauma.
And then my phone rang.
It was Victim Witness Assistance, calling on behalf of the Crown prosecutor. I was expecting a call as the Pre trial for sexual assault that was scheduled today was not on the docket but the update? They are withdrawing bail breach charges against my ex-husband to be because his lawyer apparently told him he could go places his bail conditions specifically forbid.
In less than five seconds, that sense of hope and stability disintegrated. My head spun, my chest tightened, and I went from calm to chaos — from grounded to spiraling — in what felt like a single breath.
I was lucky to be at the home of a great friend when the call came. She has lived through something almost identical — an ex who manipulates the system, who plays games with the law, who retraumatizes at every turn. She understands my trauma better than anyone else in this world. Her presence was a lifeline.
Despite that, I still broke down on the call. Tears poured as I asked, over and over, How can this happen? It’s black and white — the conditions are written clearly. I was stunned, flabbergasted, shaken to my core. The bottom dropped out of my world.
I managed to choke out words: I don’t want this. It isn’t fair. How can this happen? These conditions are there to protect my safety. Does this mean if his lawyer says he can come to my house, then he can — and there are no consequences? Why does he always manage to escape justice?
The Problem Isn’t Just Mine — It’s the System
Bail conditions aren’t suggestions — they’re legally binding orders, put in place for a reason: to protect victims, to set boundaries, to give us even the smallest measure of safety.
When those conditions are ignored or excused, the message is clear: our safety is negotiable. Our trauma is secondary. A lawyer’s word carries more weight than the words written in black and white on a court order.
My questions for the Crown:
- How can a lawyer’s words override a judge’s bail order written in black and white?
- If “my lawyer told me” is accepted as an excuse, what is the point of bail conditions at all?
The Double Standard
If I were the one to breach a court order, there would be no excuses. No gentle dismissal. No “miscommunication.” I would be held accountable — and rightly so.
But when it’s him? Suddenly, it’s up for debate. Suddenly, the burden of clarity shifts from the written order to whether or not his lawyer told him differently. That’s not just unfair — it’s dangerous. Because every time the system allows one breach to slide, it tells abusers they can keep testing limits, keep pushing boundaries, keep intimidating the people they’re supposed to stay away from.
My questions for the Crown:
- Why are breaches treated as optional in cases involving sexual assault and child safety?
- If I were the one breaching a court order, would I be given the same leniency?
Civil vs. Criminal — And Why This Matters
His lawyer told him he could go to our business offices. But his bail conditions are clear: he is not allowed there on Mondays so that I can safely access the property.
We are in civil court fighting over that property and multiple businesses too. In January, I was served with an ex parte order that removed me from all business bank accounts and forced me to hand over the financials. Since February, I’ve been trying to get him back into court to regain some control, but he keeps managing to adjourn.
That order never said I cannot access the property. I still legally own half of it. If I want to sit down and listen to music there, I can. I can walk around, count stock, and see what has disappeared.
Meanwhile, he has set up another business in his name only, running out of our shared offices, and is funnelling our joint business through that — corporate fraud at its finest. I’m working on that in civil court, but it shows the pattern: manipulation, obstruction, control.
On the day of the breach, I went there to see if he had left paperwork regarding travel consent for our daughter’s humanitarian project. He had blocked it for months, and I had to bring my own emergency motion in which the judge ordered him to sign the consent. That hearing was on Friday. Monday was a bank holiday. She flew Tuesday. I went to check if the forms had been left there.
But instead of paperwork, I found him there. Where his bail conditions said he could not be. Where, in fact, the police arrested him a short time later.
His lawyer had seven months to file for a bail amendment. They didn’t. They also never emailed me, via our work email, to say he would be working there.
So tell me: how is this right? How can they use this to manipulate the system?
The answer is: they shouldn’t. It is black and white. A lawyer cannot overrule a judge. but apparently they can…….
The Human Impact
This breach didn’t just affect me. My children were retraumatized too — their safety conditions ignored, their fears reignited, their fragile healing ripped open again.
And then there’s me. These conditions exist for my protection. Every breach destroys what little peace I have managed to rebuild. It worsens my CPTSD and anxiety. It makes me feel like no matter what court orders I have, he can still reach into my life, twist the law, and keep control.
My questions for the Crown:
- Does this mean if his lawyer says he can attend my home, he can — and there will be no consequences?
- What message does that send to me, to my children, and to every survivor watching?
- What message does this send to any woman who is in my position and who has only the safety of a promise on a piece of paper to protect her?
Why the Breach Must Proceed
He has a history of breaking conditions. He is already on bail because of three prior police release condition breaches. In 2024 he was given a warning for being close to breaching his bail conditions – oh and he has a surety too. He has shown, again and again, that he cannot be trusted to follow bail.
And let’s not forget: the underlying charges are not trivial. He is on bail for sexual assault against me. Bail was only granted with strict conditions for a reason. To excuse a breach now erodes the very purpose of bail and puts me and my children at risk.
This isn’t just about me. This is about the public interest. Withdrawing this breach charge tells abusers everywhere that bail conditions are optional, that excuses work, that manipulation pays off. It tells my children their safety doesn’t matter. It tells other survivors that reporting isn’t worth it.
My questions for the Crown:
- How can victims ever trust the system if bail orders are negotiable?
- What precedent does this set if a lawyer’s excuse is enough to erase a breach?
Is Speaking Up a Difference-Maker?
I don’t know if speaking up will make a difference. The prosecutor said they’re withdrawing. But if I sit back and say nothing, how will it ever change?
And that’s the real problem. This is why women don’t come forward and report sexual assault. Because every time a breach is excused, every time a condition is softened, victims are retraumatized and reminded that their safety doesn’t matter.
The numbers show it too:
- Only 5–6% of sexual assaults are ever reported to police.
- Of those reported, only about 36% result in charges, and fewer proceed to court.
- In 2022, only 31% of police-reported sexual assaults in Canada were cleared by charge.
- For every 1,000 sexual assaults reported, only about 52 result in a guilty verdict or custodial sentence.
- Overall, just 0.3% to 1.6% of self-reported sexual assaults result in convictions.
Living Inside the Statistics
I self-reported to the police. I stepped forward knowing the odds I was already facing. And then he breached — black and white, undeniable — and still, the system talks about excusing it.
Imagine how that feels.
Part of me whispered out loud: What is the point in trying to get justice? Why try?
It hurts so much. It is so hard. And I don’t want to be doing this anymore. I don’t want to relive this pain, this fear, this frustration. It feels like I am losing before I even get to court.
I stepped forward because it wasn’t just rape. It was years of abuse and coercive control. The night before I reported him, I slept with my boots on because I was afraid of what he might do. Not long before that, I was carrying laundry down the basement stairs when he knocked me at the top step. He shut the door on me, and then opened it as I regained my footing a few steps down. The look in his eyes made me fear for my life. In that moment, I knew he wanted me dead. That is not a feeling I can describe — but it is one I will never forget.
How do they expect victims to come forward when these are the overwhelming odds we face?
I want justice. I know I may not get it. In fact, the odds say I probably won’t. But if I don’t try, then how does anything change?
What we need is for people to stand up and say: This is wrong. Wrong in so many ways.
So on Friday, when I have my online meeting with the prosecution, I will be standing up not just for me, but for all the women and children who will follow in my footsteps, seeking justice.
Will it make a difference? I don’t know.
Will I sleep at night knowing I tried my best? Probably not. Because my sense of safety has been shattered beyond repair — at least for now. I will work at it, and I know I’ll get that feeling back, but it is going to be hard.
And I can only do it because I have amazing friends. One of them — not in direct communication with the man who now calls me Darling, who has made me laugh again and texts me good morning and goodnight — hunted him down when I wouldn’t pick up the phone this afternoon to see if he could manage to get me to pick up the phone and talk.
My daughter, seeing me spiral, reached out to my friend and set the jungle drums beating among my closest circle.
This is what it takes — this level of support — just to get back on my feet and keep going.
And I don’t want to let them down. I don’t want to let myself down either.
Closing Reflection
I started this week feeling positive — like maybe I was finally finding solid ground. And within minutes, I was pulled back under by a system that seems willing to bend rules for the very person who hurt me.
But here I am, writing it down, naming it, refusing to stay silent. I cannot control what the Crown decides, but I can control my voice. And I will use it — for myself, for my children, and for every survivor who has felt the bottom drop out of their world when the system chose convenience over safety.
This is why women don’t come forward and report rape. Because every time a breach is excused, every time a condition is softened, the victims are retraumatized. I am living proof of that, and so are my children.
Something needs to change.
