After one last push, the nurse placed baby Ethan on my chest. Cuddling my newborn, I’d never felt love like it.
I drank in every bit of him – his button nose, mop of red hair, blue eyes – 8lb 2oz of perfection.
I’d become pregnant at the end of a short relationship and his dad wasn’t around.
I’d be a young, single mum, but I couldn’t wait.
My mum Julie, then 50, had helped me decorate the nursery in sunshine yellow.
And when Ethan and I came home, I took to being a mum like a duck to water.
Ethan was a dream, sleeping through the night by six weeks, happy, with a cheeky grin.
Then, one day in October 2011, an old mate, Jason Redgrave, then 24, messaged…
