You can’t play a player, especially not one forged on East London streets who later earned a PhD. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but justice demands its day. Anyone can cheat. That’s on them. But when Sara Talia stole my kids using international law, she crossed a line that cannot stand.
Yes, I call her a nasty, evil slag. I’ll repeat this again. I have the right to call her a slag when someone cheats and sleeps with multiple lovers and then comes to potentially infect me with diseases. I’ve only had two sexual partners, and with my OCD, for her to cheat with someone who cheats and then bring potential disease? I have the right to be annoyed. This nasty, evil woman prioritised her selfish needs over my kid’s trauma.
I have come close to ending my life multiple times. The only thing keeping me breathing is ensuring my kids know the truth before I leave this planet where nasty, evil people win through finances and contacts.
I’ve taken all these years to plan and ensure I’m best placed to go on the offensive. To ensure my colour or gender doesn’t get in the way of justice. In a world where people of colour and men are treated with different rules when they’re in the right.
As a young boy, I remember the ‘Fathers 4 Justice‘ movement clearly. Grown men in superhero costumes climbing buildings just to be seen. Back then, it looked like madness. Now I get it. They weren’t chasing fame. They were shouting through silence.
The injustice fathers face is real, especially when nasty, evil, cheating rats like Sara Talia find ways to bend or dodge the law to steal kids. I see it all now. We talk about gender imbalance like it only leans one way. The truth is we live in a duplex gender world. One set of rules for women. Another for men. No balance. No fairness. Just illusion.
I’ve spent years building and understanding how to create content for online functions. I’ve developed a new site and rebranded my old site to fit what I aim to achieve and ensure my content is discoverable. This process has taken its toll, requiring lots of learning, but I’m now set.
When Sara Talia decided to steal my kids, she took the only thing that mattered to me in this world. Just because I was the idiot who took her abuse, coercive behaviour and insults, it made her believe that she had agency over me. The biggest mistake people make is assuming that inaction or kindness from another means being submissive. Far from it, it’s a choice. The Dalai Lama said this beautifully:
Don’t ever mistake my silence for ignorance, my calmness for acceptance or my kindness for weakness. Compassion and tolerance are not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.
I’ve hated this woman. But I stayed, swallowed my pride, and took the hits because I was shielding the kids. That’s what she never understood. People like Sara get a sniff of control and think they’re untouchable. They don’t see the wreckage, only the mirror. Some people do not realise the damage they cause to others when they believe they are in charge.
She never saw what it cost me. I walked away from my PhD fieldwork to hold her ladder. She climbed. I fell. And every time I tried to speak on it, she spat on the wound and told me to get over it. What she missed was that I never healed. I carried trauma like weight plates, and each time she dismissed it, my hate curled heavier.
In 2018, something split inside me. That was the birth of my evil twin. I’ve been feeding him without knowing. He’s patient and sharp, and now he’s in charge. The nice Paul is gone. What she triggered fully came alive the day she filed that fake divorce without me ever seeing it coming.
Sara Talia laughed and said I got played. What she didn’t realise was that my evil twin was already in the background, planning. I’ve lost everything I ever wanted in life. I don’t care for this world anymore, but I will make sure justice gets its turn. Since leaving Qatar on 9 August 2021 with my tail between my legs, empty-handed, without my kids, the pain hasn’t stopped.
Now, I’m ready after this post to launch Phases Two and Three. Phase one has been debunking her lies. In Phase Two, I’ll outline the irreversible damage and traumatic impact this parent has caused her kids. Phase three will be the start of going after her legally. I don’t have the money, but I have a solid plan in place.
Let’s see who played who.
My Mother and Father Did Not Raise a Fool: You Can’t Play a Player
Life’s a strange trip. Some people posture so hard they start believing their own alter ego. Like someone off their head on ‘shrooms‘, seeing things that aren’t there. Had to use the street name because Sara Talia genuinely believes she played me.
The nanny, in a rare moment of candidness, let something slip. I was speaking to her about my decision to forgive Sara Talia for everything she did, especially the fake divorce. She’s a woman of faith with a heart of gold, and for months, she had been trying to get me to let it go. I had resisted. But when I finally told her I had forgiven her, she dropped her guard. She said that on the day the fake divorce was granted, Sara Talia had been prancing around with a champagne flute in hand, throwing shade and saying I got played. The nanny said it almost in passing, thinking that with forgiveness in the air, it was all just history. I locked it in the vault for later.
Trying to ‘skool’ me on street craft? Nah, fam, she is trippin’; my mother and father did not raise a fool. The terms “being played” and “player” have roots in African American vernacular.
- Being played: This comes from the idea of being manipulated like a puppet or an actor in someone else’s game. It suggests deceit, trickery, or being taken advantage of.
- Player: This is short for “playboy” or someone who is in the game, dating, hustling, or manipulating social situations for personal gain.
Sara really gassed herself like she had it locked. Mad delusional. Hands up, my girl did play me on the playgirl front, letting man dem run through her behind my back. Take a bow, innit. Clap for yourself. But when it comes to me being played? Nah, not this bredrin. My ego’s too loud for that.
Because she liked Stormzy’s ‘Big For Your Boots‘ and spent evenings watching Top Boy and Power, she thinks she’s Tommy Egan. Since she rates Stormzy, lemme borrow one of his tunes: my girl needs to Shut Up and fix up. All these fake actors think reading Warren Buffett’s books makes them investors.
That’s not how it works. Not only am I a G with the books, but I grew up on the streets of East London. Street exams? Patterned. Passed with distinction. What’s wild is these fraud pump fakers like Sara, who’ve never done a single set or rep on the pavement, think their sofa-side observations qualify them to get street-certified. Nah, not me, star. She can’t call it on someone you’ve never studied. She lost the plot. Know your opponent; that’s rule number one.
You can’t play a player who’s been ten steps ahead since day one.
Kindness Is Not Weakness
My closest friend warned me after I returned from Qatar in August 2021 with my tail between my legs. “Paul, you’re the nicest, most polite person I know. But this will bite you.” He was right about Sara using my kindness against me.
From mid-2018, I hated her. I disliked her. I thought she was unfit as a human being and unworthy to be a parent, let alone a mother with empathy and maternal instinct. I stayed and became her doormat solely for the kids. It gave her the confidence that she had agency over me.
I was stupid enough to believe her when she said we needed to focus on her career. I should pause my PhD fieldwork to focus on building her future first. After that, we’d turn to me. Her words? “We’re a team.” That lie was the beginning of the end.
Between 2008 and 2009, I lost my PhD field. For someone with dyslexia, who had grafted through undergrad and pushed through to earn a PhD, that loss was profound. That PhD wasn’t just a title. It was my route into Formula One. A lifelong dream. Gone.
To put all that on hold for her, then later for the family, and be treated like a piece of excrement was hard. When I spoke about how much losing my PhD had wrecked me, she told me to get over it like it was nothing.
Over time, I realised I was deep in depression. Grieving something, I gave up so she could have everything. And this self-centred woman, the one I supported and made into who she became, dared to tell me to move on.
Most nights, I lay there thinking, how did I let my life become this? I felt like a doormat. A clown. I hated her.
I took dead-end jobs that let me work from home so I could look after the kids while she built her career. Running on four hours of sleep, I became sidelined. She held all the power and convinced herself it was because she was dominant, fiercer, the one in control. She wore the trousers. From 2014 onwards, the coercive behaviour was despicable and kept getting worse. Do this, or I’ll divorce you. I’ll take your kids. The only thing that mattered to me was my children.
I always knew she was a terrible parent and worse as a mother. No instinct, no skills, just useless. That’s not opinion; it’s since been proven. I tolerated her for the sake of the kids. Held my tongue. Swallowed pride. Abraham Lincoln once said:
I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends.
That kind of restraint takes more strength than people realise. Now I have nothing. She took everything I ever wanted. The only thing that ever mattered to me was being a dad. That was the dream. When I finally had kids, I didn’t want them growing up in a broken home. So I stayed. I endured the abuse. I kept the mask on. All for them.
I’ve got a stoic predisposition. I can take a lot without reacting. That’s not a weakness. That’s strength shaped by dyslexia. She thought silence meant control. Thought I was hers to manage. Her walking around saying she played me? All I’ll say is this. Sometimes, the one who gets played becomes the player.
Chess Not Checkers: You Can’t Play a Player
The claim that Sara Talia played me never sat right. Maybe it’s ego. It may be the competitor in me. Either way, it doesn’t land. A woman raised in the soft corners of Sweden thinking she’s streetwise enough to outplay someone forged in East London? Nah. Not even close.
There are levels to this, and I’ve always known where I sit. Some people play checkers, others play chess. Some drive Ferraris; I once badly wanted a Vauxhall Nova. Some wear Richard Mille, I pound pavements with my basic Garmin. That’s me. I’m not pretending I’m premium, but I know what premium looks like.
I know there’s a difference between the National League and the Premiership, between SpaceX and the guy still drawing rocket plans in his notebook. She thought we were on the same level. She thought wrong. I’ve been thinking ten steps ahead while she was still learning the board.
Sun Tzu’s ‘The Art of War’ taught me about studying your enemy. His wisdom:
The supreme excellence is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
Many think they’re playing a game their opponent doesn’t even see. That’s where Sara Talia got it twisted. When this chapter ends, I’ll sit her down and break it all down. Move by move. In 2018, I collected everything. Quietly. Meticulously. I took hits, stayed silent, and endured abuse. All for my children.
I’ve never subscribed to the lazy expectations placed on men or people of colour. The idea is that we react loudly, move without thought, and lack control. That’s not me. I think. I wait. I calculate.
Whilst Sara was busy adding notches and carvings of a tally on her bedpost by allowing any Tom, Dick and Harry to pass through her ‘coochie’, I was busy collecting facts and evidence. Laying traps to reveal her true colours.
It was almost comical watching her moves. After telling me I had to leave the house, she sent the nanny to deliver the message like I was some side character in her show. At the same time, she was hitting me with a flood of abusive texts. Talking down to me. Disrespecting me at every turn.
Those final months from March to August, before I came back to the UK with my tail between my legs, were pure chaos. She had already been cheating and was convinced she’d found a new dad for my kids. A replacement. Her domestic abuser partner lined up to step into my place.
She clocked me as a joke; soft, spineless, a sideman she could run game on. Maybe even some moist, emotional mug she could bend and fold like laundry. A three-dimensional loser.
She told the nanny, laughing at me, that I should enjoy the time with my kids. That I shouldn’t say anything when they did wrong. Just embrace the time because I’m leaving and won’t see them for a long while. She laughed, thinking she had it all figured out. But a real player knows the game they’re in.
I sat through it all. The insults, the coercion, the threats. Every blow she threw, I absorbed. Even when the kids were unsettled, I stayed focused. I was teaching them values, work ethic, and how to walk this life right. She thought she ran things.
Let her remember the sessions with the educational psychologists. I moved pieces without her seeing them and made her believe the choices were hers. Or when she hid the passports and birth certificates. I knew what she was up to. I played along. When she later “found” them, she didn’t realise she had already made her mistake.
This is not the same game. Some ego play. Others play for survival. I grew up on streets where staying ten steps ahead kept you breathing. Sara never played me. Now, with no money and no advantage, I will dismantle her through the same legal system that usually crushes men like me. Let’s see who really understands levels.
I am not a negative statistic; I’m a positive statistic; I’m a plus one. She does not have the right to destroy what I have created. Absolutely not; now you will see the different levels in the field of a game.
Impulsive People Trap Themselves
Sara Talia’s impulsiveness showed itself early. Every choice had to be hers. As time passed, it got worse. It bloated her self-belief. Delusions followed.
People who live through instinct and impulse end up tying themselves into knots. Lies, deceit, dishonesty. It comes back around, the damage people do chasing control. I wrote before about the kind of people who enjoy screwing others over. I spoke on the dark triad. At first, I thought she was just narcissistic. Now I see it clearer. Narcissism, yes, but with high levels of Machiavellian intent.
In 2018, I made a decision. She was no longer my partner. She was the opponent. Keep your opponent close. I studied, I adapted, and understanding her patterns and emotional triggers became a daily exercise.
This is where science breaks things down. She moved through life using System 1, the part of the brain that acts fast, without reflection. Pure impulse. I had to operate through System 2, the part that slows down, analyses, and plans. That was my only defence. I had no money and no position, but I had my mind.
I stayed silent. Stoic. Took pain without reaction. Stayed close to the kids. That was the point. That was the reason. And now, I find myself where I feared most. I am a nobody. Stripped of everything. At ground zero. No status. No power. No children. Just me, trying to peel myself off the floor with nothing but my brain, my evidence, my counterplay.
Give Someone Enough Space, And They’ll Tangle Themselves in Their Own Web
No matter how hard Sara tried to hide her true self, time always tells. It is like a brand-new piece of polished wood. At first, it shines. But with time and weather, the veneer wears thin. What lies beneath becomes visible to everyone.
In life, just like in yin yoga, patience reveals everything. Yin teaches what time does to the surface. First, you meet your edge, the point of resistance. Then, you learn to settle into stillness within discomfort. Finally, you stay with it. That is when the masks drop, and the truth starts to show.
People carry out acts, then look in mirrors for praise or out windows to shift blame. I’ve never understood why some people can’t just stand on their own two feet in business. If you’ve got the balls to do something, own what comes next.
Sara built a whole concoction of lies. She told schools that I abused her and the children. She told the kids that I chose not to see them, but in reality, she prevented contact.
People like this stand for nothing. No values. No code. No morals. But with time and space, their truth always spills. She is a nasty, devious, evil human being. Even after forgiveness, I only asked her to keep her abusive partner away from the children. She couldn’t do that. Instead, she got the kids to lie about it.
She chose to die on the molehill of morality. I’d rather die on the values that sit at the peak of Mount Everest. That’s the difference. When the veneer fades, it becomes evident to everyone.
The children told me everything. I checked with the nanny to be sure. And I’ll use it all. Let’s see what she does now. Whether she tries to lie again and bury the truth or faces the height of real morality. This time, she decides. Mount Everest or the molehill. One of them will bury her.
Nothing Left to Lose
Sara likes selective sports. But sport teaches one universal truth. When you have nothing left to lose, your mindset shifts. Let me show you:
- Cricket: Free Hit – After a no-ball, the batsman swings without fear of dismissal
- American Football: Hail Mary Pass – Desperate long throw when time’s running out
- Tennis: Going for Broke – Behind players hit aggressive high-risk shots with newfound freedom
- Basketball: Heat Check – Taking increasingly difficult shots when desperate for points
- Boxing/MMA: Haymakers – Wild powerful punches when behind on points, aiming for knockout
- Football/Soccer: Throwing Everyone Forward – In the final minutes, even the goalkeeper attacks
- Baseball: Swinging for the Fences – Big risks because small plays won’t suffice
- Gambling: Playing with House Money – Risk freely with winnings, not initial stake
These moments show a shift in psychology. When caution fades, risk becomes the only move. That is where I am. I knew I didn’t have the funds to fight her in court. After her first mover act, she thought it was over. She was wrong.
I’ve gone from caring too much to not caring at all. No feelings. No emotions. I have always put others before me. I have never asked for anything in return. Not from people. Not from the universe. Even when I was a believer, I never made requests for self-gain. I never waited for the flower to bloom. I was content with whatever came.
I have never valued my life. I have no attachments to people or material things. The only thing that ever mattered to me was my kids. And now, this foolish woman, Sara Talia, has lost the one thing that could have saved her from the storm I am about to bring.
There’s a limit when you are doing someone dirty. A line you do not cross. A point where, if you stop, things might still be salvaged. I have gone from caring to not caring. How is that even possible? It happens when a good man slips into depression and reaches what I call the dead soul stage, where nothing matters anymore except justice.
This justice is what I call 10X. I will multiply my suffering tenfold and reflect it back. The only thing that ever had a hold over me was the kids. They were the last restraint. But I no longer care. Sara Talia has lied to them for so long that they believe her now. That bond has been poisoned.
When I left Qatar on 9 August 2021 with my black tail between my legs, I was mourning the loss of my children. That grief used to hold me back. Now, it drives everything.
On my way to meet my maker, knowing I am being sent to hell, I will make sure justice is told. My kids will know exactly who their mother is. Nasty. Evil. Manipulative.
Multiple Ways to Win: You Can’t Play a Player
There are many ways to peel an orange. No need for that twisted phrase about skinning cats. I love animals. Whoever came up with that needs help. Oranges work just fine.
Each method reflects a different mindset and a different strategy:
- Some bite into the skin and tear it open with their hands, raw and direct with no tools
- Others use their index finger to score a line, then peel slowly in sections, hands-only but controlled
- Some take a knife and score clean quarters or spirals, aiming for precision and efficiency
- Others roll the orange on a hard surface to loosen the skin, then peel it off in clean pieces
- Some make a single cut around the middle and twist, separating the halves with ease
- Some use a spoon or citrus peeler, lifting the skin away cleanly with barely a mark
When Sara secured her fake divorce, I had an elaborate plan in place. Qatar was hosting the 2022 World Cup. I was ready to leverage global media attention and tap into criticism of the host nation. I had the channels. I had the reach. But I forgave her.
When she broke our agreement to keep her abusive partner away from the kids, I lost my golden option. That was the clean play. But life moves. Doors close, and others slide open. Looking back, that plan was weak. Now, I’ve built something far more ruthless. A plan with reach, weight, and consequence.
For years, I’ve been rebuilding. Rebranding Nursing Daddy from a parenting blog into a platform built for impact. Creating new sites. Building presence. What looked like loss became structure. A calculated design. There is no denying what’s coming. Countries. Governments. Organisations. Individuals. All of them helped shape this mess. And all of them will face the court of public opinion.
Being Black, male, and without money, the system doesn’t favour you. Sara thought her first-mover advantage sealed it. She thought moving in silence and filing behind my back was clever. It wasn’t. It forced me to sit still and use every ounce of brainpower to build something more substantial. That’s the funny thing about not having money. It makes you think. It makes you build. It makes you create plans so airtight they can’t be ignored.
There are multiple ways to achieve an outcome. You just have to wait long enough to see the better path form. Now I am ready. And it’s thanks to Sara. She punked me. She thought I was finished. She made me believe she cared for the kids. That mistake has now made sure this next move stays online forever.
Let’s see how this lands.
You Can’t Play a Player: The War Has Just Begun
Sara Talia made an impulsive move to cover up her cheating, save face, and seize control. She broke laws, believing she could walk away untouched. Only narcissists think like that.
I forgave her for using international law to steal the kids. I gave one condition. Keep her woman and child-beating partner away. She agreed, then broke it. Told the kids to lie or she would stop contact. Inflicted childhood trauma on a 9, 7, and 4-year-old. A medic who should know better.
This is either smart or stupid. Smart is a passive mistake corrected by learning. Stupid is active harm when you should know better. I know which one Sara is.
I have missed the most formative years. My kids are strangers. We don’t know each other beyond surface-level words like “I love you,” which mean nothing without connection. All because of her despicable actions.
Her cruelty has no ceiling. She treated me worse than a paedophile after I gave up my future to build her career. I have taken steps to expose the systems that enable this. Systems that serve the loudest, the protected, the privileged. Systems that ignore men, people of colour, and the truth.
My life has always been about doing the right thing. Putting others first. But that chapter is closed. I no longer care for society, friends, family, or even my GOAT parents. The only thing that could reach me was my children. She cut that cord. That was her only power. And now it is gone.
My firstborn asks why I left Qatar. He believes his mother when she says I abandoned them. The truth is she kicked me out of what she called “her house.” The truth is there is no cavalry. No backup. I am an infantry soldier, alone in this war.
I am tired of seeing nasty, cheating women use first-mover advantage to flip the system. Tired of courts falling in line. I know two men close to me who went through this exact lie. Since living it myself, I have met dozens. My RAS is trained to see it now. The pattern is everywhere.
Nothing touches me now. No woman. No family. No friend. No voice in society. Nothing gets through. The only thing that ever could was my children. And they are strangers to me now, thanks to her lies and alienation. That was her last move. And it was her biggest mistake.
What Sara needs to remember is simple. She has never been and will never be my intellectual, contemporary, parenting, human, moral, or street equal. You can’t play a player.
The only thing that ever mattered was my children. The truth will come out. One day, they will decide for themselves. She thinks she played me. Let’s see.
I am not a negative statistic. I am a positive statistic. I am a plus one.
In those final months in Qatar, when she bullied me out of the house, I told her she had won. She won the fight. She won the battle. But she would not win in the end.
The war has just begun.