When Carolyn Shepherd, 38, from Wirral, went looking for love online in her twenties she thought she’d found her perfect match in Wayne Wellings. However, Wayne was far from the man of her dreams and quickly turned into an obsessive, controlling and abusive monster. Here, she shares her story of endurance and bravery…
Opening the window, I smiled awkwardly as the delivery man handed me my parcel through the gap. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I can’t open my front door, I’ve lost my keys.”
It wasn’t true. Yet how could I tell him that my own husband locked me in the house every time he went out, so he could keep track of my movements? I’d become so used to covering up and making excuses for Wayne, I just thought it was normal. I was busy locking the window when Wayne’s voice boomed out of the Alexa in the living room. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I’m right here,” I replied. “I promise.”
“Who are you with?” he snapped “Nobody,” I assured him. “It was just a delivery. That’s all.”
I was trapped in my own home, under surveillance all day from a man who was supposed to love me. He listened in at random times of the day, to make sure I was always on my own. I felt so isolated and lonely. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
When we’d met online, in 2013, Wayne seemed like a catch. He wanted us to be together all the time; he was so intense. I was flattered, thinking he really loved me. At 27, I was ready to settle down, and I thought he felt the same.
Over time, I learnt Wayne had argued with most of his friends and family. He wasn’t really close to anyone. But I told myself that was his business. Within six months, we’d found a place together.
On our first night in our new home, we went out for drinks. Wayne was drunk when we got in and ordered a takeaway. He flew into a rage when the food was late, and somehow turned his anger on me.
“You’re fat,” he sneered. “You need to lose some weight. You’re nothing but a dog.”
Insults and abuse
Lunging at me, he threw me to the floor and rubbed my face in the dog’s bowl. I was in shock. I’d never seen him behave like that before. Deep down, I knew I should leave him, immediately. Yet it wasn’t so simple.
I’d borrowed money from my mum for the house move. Everyone was so pleased for us, moving in together. I felt ashamed to admit I’d made such a big mistake. In the end, I couldn’t bear to tell anyone. I just hoped he’d never do it again.
But that night set the pattern for years of misery. Wayne was controlling and jealous, often accusing me of sleeping with other men, even though I was devoted to him. As I was doing my make-up each morning, he’d spit in my face and then run his hand down my cheeks, smudging my mascara into my foundation. He pulled out my hair extensions, too.
“You’re a s**t,” he said. “You deserve everything you get.”
Sometimes, I’d have lip fillers, and Wayne would press down hard on my lips, squashing them until they split. It was agony.
“That will teach you,” he said.
Other days, he’d empty my make-up bag and smash the lot. Or he might walk past me and raise his hand. He laughed when I flinched, as though it was all part of a game. But the threat of violence was somehow worse than the violence itself.
I loved wearing make-up and feminine clothes, just to feel good about myself. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I’d never have dreamt of having an affair.
But over time, I lost interest in my appearance.
I worked in the car industry, so most of my colleagues were male, which Wayne didn’t like at all. I wasn’t allowed to text or call another man, even though it was related to work.
In 2016, Wayne proposed. Again, deep down, I knew it was a mistake. But I nodded and smiled, telling myself this could be a new start for us both. Besides, by now, I felt so depressed and worthless, I couldn’t see a way out. I’d started to believe that I deserved the abuse, just as Wayne claimed.
Before our wedding, I planned a quiet hen do, a night away in Essex with two friends. But the moment we arrived at the hotel, Wayne started calling me, insisting I send him videos of my room to prove there was nobody else in there. He didn’t leave me alone the whole night.
On our wedding day in July 2016, Wayne got drunk at the reception and vanished. He was nowhere to be found all evening. When the last song played, a gay pal took my hand.
“Come on,” he said. “You can’t miss the last dance at your own wedding.”
Part-way through, Wayne charged on to the dance floor, pulling me away and screaming that I was a s**t and a s**g. I felt so ashamed; humiliated in front of everyone. The abuse continued back in our suite.
“You’ve brought this on yourself,” he yelled. “It’s your fault I lose my temper.”
And I believed him. I was so unhappy with Wayne. Each time he went off to work, as a welder, he’d lock the door and take the keys with him. I was trapped in the house. He kept a constant check on me through our Alexa, making sure I was on my own. By now, my mum, Christine, had realised what was going on. She called me every day, to make sure I was safe. “You should leave him,” she pleaded.
But it wasn’t so easy. I tried leaving a few times, but Wayne threatened to harm me, or my mum. In the end, I always gave in.
Finding her voice
On 27 December 2020, we went out for a meal, and I read a text message from a male colleague. Wayne was furious. “You’re flirting!” he said. He took my phone away and refused to return it. When we got home, he worked himself up into a rage, ripping off his T-shirt and glaring at me with black eyes. He looked almost demonic.
I went upstairs, to get away from him. But he followed and pulled down a curtain pole in the bedroom. To my horror, he began beating me with it. Even then, I gritted my teeth and didn’t dare cry out. I was so used to staying silent. Covering my head, terrified, I suddenly heard Mum’s voice downstairs.
“Is everything OK here?” she called.
She hadn’t been able to reach me by phone, so she’d come round. I almost cried with relief. She may just have saved my life.
When Mum saw me, bruised and bloodied, she asked, “Do you want to come with me?” and I nodded, tears streaming down my face. Wayne tried to stop me, but this time, my mind was made up. I moved in with Mum and never went back. Yet it was another year before I felt strong enough to speak to the police.
In September 2024 Wayne was found guilty at Liverpool Crown Court on two counts of ABH and controlling and coercive behaviour. In November, he was jailed for five years.
I am so relieved he’s behind bars. I have a chance to look to the future. I’m back at work, and life is better than it’s ever been. For eight long, lonely years, I stayed quiet, thinking that was best.
Now I realise that finding my voice is the best thing I’ve ever done.
