The Fight Didn't End in Court
Jade Belgrove shares her experience of seeking justice - and the uncertainty created by changes to sentencing
By Jade Belgrove
My name is Jade Belgrove, and I was groomed from around the age of 12 before being raped at the age of 14 by one of my dad’s closest friends.
He gradually wormed his way into our family, building close relationships with numerous relatives while secretly earning our trust. He would give me and my friends alcohol and cigarettes - things that, at that age, I thought made him seem exciting and “cool.” Looking back, I now understand that this was the first stage of the grooming process. He carefully created an environment where I felt special, trusted him, and never questioned his intentions, all while myself and those around me had no idea of his planned intentions.
He raped me the first time in my family home, whilst my family slept upstairs. The second time was on a family Holiday with over 10 of my relatives staying in the same house.
The memories of what happened are etched into my mind in a way I know I will carry for the rest of my life. They are not just memories—they are vivid flashes that can come back without warning. I remember the sound of the film playing in the background, the smell of alcohol on his breath, and the overwhelming fear and confusion I felt.
What has haunted me just as much are the moments that followed. The next morning, the first thing he said to me was, “Fancy a cup of tea?” as though nothing had happened. Later, he quietly came into my room and asked me if I had ever “kissed anyone like that before.” Even then, he tried to distort what had happened, disguising rape as something consensual. Those words have stayed with me ever since, because they remind me not only of what he did, but of the calculated manipulation and abuse that surrounded it.
The second time happened while he had been invited on a family holiday. He was due to become my baby brother’s godfather - that is how deeply he had earned my family’s trust. None of them knew what he had already done to me.
Once again, he waited until everyone had gone to bed. I was sharing a bedroom with my 14-year-old cousin, and he plied him with alcohol. This time, I refused to drink because I was painfully aware of what he had done to me just a couple of months earlier.
When my cousin had fallen asleep in the bed beside me, I heard him quietly come into the room and whisper my name. I froze. I clung tightly to the quilt I had wrapped around myself, hoping that if I stayed completely still, he would leave. Instead, he pulled the covers away and raped me again.
The fear, helplessness and betrayal of that night have never left me. Even surrounded by my family, I was not safe. The man they trusted completely was abusing that trust in the most devastating way imaginable.
This is what these people do: they infiltrate families in order to destroy children’s lives.
He earned the trust of the people who loved me most, and used that trust to gain access to me. He hid behind the appearance of a family friend while systematically grooming and abusing a child. The devastation he caused did not end with the assaults - it has affected my life, my family, and my sense of safety ever since.
This was not speculation - it was evidenced in court. Investigators found a document in which he had written out his plans for gaining access to me. It detailed who he needed to get close to, how he intended to earn my family’s trust, and the steps he believed would allow him to reach me. One chilling phrase referred to his goal of “completing the Jade thing.”
Reading those words was devastating. It confirmed that what happened to me was not opportunistic or spontaneous. It was deliberate, calculated and premeditated. He had systematically manipulated the people around me.
It took me ten years to find the courage to go to the police.
For a decade, I carried the weight of what he had done to me in silence. I tried to bury the trauma and convince myself I could live with it, but the memories never left me.
Then one day, I discovered that he had returned to the town where I lived, and my dad, still none the wiser, had been to see him. Something in me that day flipped. The fear, the panic and the trauma that I had spent years trying to suppress resurfaced in an instant.
That was the moment I realised I could no longer stay silent. I knew that if I didn’t report him, he would continue to have power over my life. Finding the strength to go to the police was the hardest thing I have ever done. It meant reliving every detail of the abuse through interviews, statements and a trial, but I did it because I believed the justice system would protect me and prevent him from harming anyone else.
On paper, my attacker received a total sentence of 30 years. However, because the sentences for three counts of rape and one count of sexual assault were ordered to run concurrently rather than consecutively, the effective sentence was just nine years.
Even that sentence felt devastatingly inadequate. It is impossible to reconcile the fact that someone could systematically groom a child, rape her twice, sexually assault her, and leave her with lifelong trauma, yet receive an effective sentence of only nine years. The impact of his crimes is something I will carry for the rest of my life. My sentence is lifelong; his was not.
Under the legislation in place at the time he was sentenced, that meant he would serve two-thirds of his sentence in prison - six years - before being released on licence for the remaining three years. As difficult as that was to accept, I held on to the belief that the sentence imposed by the court would at least be honoured. I believed he would serve those six years in custody, and that gave me some sense of certainty as I tried to rebuild my life.
Then came the Sentencing Act 2026.
Just as I had begun trying to rebuild my life around the certainty of the sentence imposed by the court, that certainty was taken away. The legislation is due to change the rules after sentencing, meaning the man convicted of grooming me, raping me twice, and sexually assaulting me could be released even earlier than I had been promised.
Receiving that email shattered what little sense of safety I had managed to rebuild. It felt as though the justice system had rewritten the outcome of my case without any regard for the victims left to live with the consequences. The sentence that had already felt painfully inadequate could be reduced even further.
For survivors, this is not simply a policy change or an administrative decision. It is a decision that has profound human consequences. We are the ones left to carry the lifelong trauma, while those who committed these crimes spend less and less time in custody. It sends a devastating message that the suffering of victims can be outweighed by pressures elsewhere in the system.
From the day I received that email, I made a promise to myself that I would not stay silent.
I launched a petition, which has now been signed by more than 110,000 people, and I personally hand-delivered it to Downing Street. I have spoken on every platform that has given me the opportunity to tell our story because this fight is about far more than me - it is about every survivor who has been left feeling abandoned by the very system that was meant to protect them.
I will not stop campaigning until our voices are heard. I will not be silenced again. I spent years fighting to reclaim my voice after what was done to me, and I refuse to let this legislation make me feel as powerless and insignificant as my abuser once made me feel. Survivors have already fought one battle for justice. We should not have to fight the justice system all over again just to keep the protections we were promised.
Throughout this campaign, I have had the privilege of meeting some truly incredible women. Although our paths crossed because of the worst experiences of our lives, I will always be grateful to have met them.
These women are remarkable. They are resilient, courageous, compassionate and fiercely determined. Each of them has endured unimaginable trauma, yet they have found the strength to stand up, speak out and fight - not just for themselves, but for every survivor whose voice deserves to be heard.
Standing alongside them has reminded me that none of us should ever have had to meet this way, but together we have found strength in one another. I am incredibly proud to stand beside them, and I know we are all equally determined to do everything we can to stop this legislation and ensure survivors are never overlooked again.
I will not stop fighting. I will not stop speaking. And I will not stop pushing for change.
I am tired of victims being ignored, dismissed and treated as though our pain comes second. I am tired of the trauma we carry being treated as something too uncomfortable to acknowledge, as though survivors should quietly bear the consequences while everyone else moves on.
I will keep speaking - for myself, for the women I have stood beside throughout this campaign, and for every survivor who still feels unable to speak.
We deserve to be heard. We deserve to be believed. And we deserve a justice system that values victims as much as it values those who have committed these crimes.
I refuse to stop until that happens.
I also want to offer a listening ear to any survivor who has recognised themselves in my story or in anything I have spoken about.
There is incredible strength in finding people who truly understand your pain. Being surrounded by those who have walked a similar path can lift a weight you have carried for far too long.
With other survivors, there is no need to explain, justify or defend how you feel. There is no judgement. There is simply understanding, compassion and support from people who genuinely get it.
None of us chose to become part of this community, but together we are stronger. There is power in numbers, there is power in our voices, and there is power in refusing to let anyone make us feel alone again.
If sharing my story helps even one person realise they are not alone, then speaking out will always have been worth it.
