Imagine losing everything in the blink of an eye—your home, your partner, your sense of security—only to be thrust into a legal and financial nightmare that feels like it will never end. This is the harrowing reality Francesca Onody faced when her abusive husband, Malcolm Baker, set their cottage ablaze as police arrived to arrest him in the late summer of 2022. She and her children escaped moments before the explosion, but the aftermath was just as devastating. Baker perished in the fire, leaving Onody not only widowed but also stripped of her home, possessions, pets, and financial stability. But here’s where it gets even more shocking: shortly before his death, Baker had emptied their joint bank accounts, canceled her mortgage protection, and voided their buildings insurance, leaving her financially ruined. And this is the part most people miss—three years later, she was on the brink of losing the little she had left when her mortgage lender, Halifax, threatened to repossess the land around her destroyed home, where she and her children had been living in a caravan since the fire.
Onody’s ordeal is a stark reminder of the long-lasting legal and financial hurdles domestic abuse survivors face, even after their abusers are gone. When she first reached out to Guardian Money in June last year, her despair was palpable. ‘It feels like my world has imploded all over again,’ she said. ‘I’ve fought to provide a roof over our heads, and now Halifax wants to take away the very ground we stand on.’
After years of battling Baker’s will—which left her nothing—fighting banks, insurers, and even funding a barrister for his inquest, Onody finally saw a glimmer of hope this month. Three-and-a-half years after the explosion, she managed to pay off the £35,000 in mortgage arrears and take possession of the land. Halifax halted the repossession proceedings and waived the interest and fees that had piled up during her legal struggles, thanks to intervention from Guardian Money. But here’s the controversial part: despite new rules introduced by the Financial Conduct Authority in 2023 to protect vulnerable customers, charities like Surviving Economic Abuse argue that victims like Onody are still being failed by the system. Are financial institutions doing enough to support survivors of economic abuse, or are they inadvertently perpetuating the harm?
Onody’s story didn’t begin with the fire. Years before, Baker, a retired Metropolitan police superintendent, had become mentally unstable and abusive, especially after she demanded a divorce. ‘He threatened to ruin our lives,’ she recalls. ‘We lived in constant fear, never knowing if he’d destroy our home in a drunken rage.’ The night of the fire, Onody had called 999 after a confrontation. Baker barricaded himself upstairs, and as police evacuated the family, petrol began pouring through the ceiling. The house exploded seconds later, trapping Baker inside. Afterward, Onody and her children were left in a caravan without heating or running water, unable to sell the land or rebuild because the property deeds were solely in Baker’s name.
It took her 28 months to contest his will successfully under the Inheritance (Provision for Family and Dependants) Act and become the estate’s personal representative. During this time, she couldn’t even discuss the mortgage with Halifax because she wasn’t named in probate. When she finally took over the estate in February 2025, she discovered £34,700 in mortgage arrears and legal fees, along with a repossession order from Halifax. And this is where it gets even more infuriating: Halifax initially agreed to let her remortgage the estate to sell the land, but they abruptly withdrew the offer, demanding she pay off the debt within two months or face repossession. ‘I’m being punished for my husband’s actions,’ she said. ‘Halifax has become the new abuser, controlling my financial future.’
After Guardian Money intervened, Halifax suspended the repossession, transferred the mortgage into her name, and apologized for mishandling her case. A spokesperson expressed sympathy, citing legal limitations due to her not being the mortgage holder initially. But Onody’s experience raises a critical question: How can survivors like her be better protected from the financial traps set by their abusers, even after their deaths?
Today, Onody is the legal owner of the land and has paid off the mortgage. She hopes to sell the property and start anew with her children. ‘It’s been a grueling journey,’ she admits, ‘but I’m hopeful for a happy ending.’ Her story, while heartbreaking, is a call to action. Economic abuse doesn’t end with a relationship—it lingers, often with devastating consequences. What do you think? Are financial institutions doing enough to support survivors, or is more radical change needed? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
