Every year in Parliament, a quiet ritual unfolds that should trouble the conscience of the nation.

For the eleventh year, Jess Phillips, Minister for Safeguarding and Violence Against Women and Girls, stood in the House of Commons and read the names of the women killed by men in the previous year.

This year the number was 107.

The moment is solemn. The chamber falls silent as name after name is spoken.

Each one represents a life that once existed in ordinary, human ways: a mother walking her children to school, a colleague heading to work, a daughter calling home, a friend laughing across a kitchen table.

But the ritual carries a deeper and more uncomfortable truth.

Despite years of awareness campaigns, political promises and national strategies, the number of women killed by men in the UK has not significantly decreased.

On average, at least one woman every week is killed by a current or former partner.

For many people these numbers appear shocking. For those working with survivors of domestic abuse, they are tragically familiar.

Domestic abuse rarely begins with lethal violence. It usually begins with patterns of control that are much harder to recognise.

Financial restrictions.

Isolation from friends and family.

Monitoring messages and movements.

Psychological intimidation.

The gradual erosion of a person’s autonomy and confidence.

These behaviours form what the law now recognises as coercive control, a pattern of domination that can exist long before physical violence becomes visible.

But recognising these patterns remains one of the greatest challenges within our safeguarding systems.

Institutions often respond to individual incidents: a report to the police, a court hearing, a housing request. Yet coercive control unfolds over months and years, and its warning signs may appear across multiple services that rarely communicate with one another.

In practice, this fragmentation can mean that no single agency ever sees the full picture.

For survivors, the most dangerous moment often comes when they attempt to leave.

Research consistently shows that separation from an abusive partner is one of the highest-risk periods for escalation. When control is threatened, violence can intensify.

This is precisely the moment when access to safe refuge accommodation can save lives.

Yet many women seeking refuge are turned away.

Across the UK, specialist domestic abuse services report that survivors are frequently unable to access safe accommodation due to a lack of bedspaces. For some, this means returning to unsafe environments or facing homelessness while trying to escape abuse.

It is a stark contradiction.

We publicly acknowledge the danger survivors face when leaving abusive relationships. Yet the systems designed to protect them often lack the capacity to offer immediate safety.

The organisations working on the frontline—refuges, advocacy services, specialist charities—have long warned that investment in domestic abuse services remains insufficient.

At the same time, the commissioning structures that fund these services are often fragmented and unstable, making it difficult for vital organisations to maintain the continuity required to protect survivors effectively.

When the names of women killed by men are read in Parliament, the moment should not simply be one of remembrance.

It should also be one of reflection.

Each name represents not only a personal tragedy but also a failure of systems that should have intervened earlier.

Preventing these deaths requires more than public awareness. It requires sustained investment in specialist services, improved coordination between institutions, and a deeper understanding of how coercive control operates long before violence becomes fatal.

The act of reading those names forces us to confront a painful truth.

Behind every statistic lies a human life that should still be here.

And behind every life lost lies a question we cannot afford to ignore:

What could have been done sooner to prevent it?

Until that question is answered with meaningful change, the list will continue to grow.

And each year, Parliament will once again fall silent as more names are read aloud.

If