Carefully applying my lipstick, I can’t help but shed a tear. I should be feeling glamorous, but seeing my reflection in the mirror – with a jagged scar down my right cheek – it’s a painful reminder of the horrendous ordeal that left me scarred forever.
I thought my life had changed for the better when, in July 2012, I was out with my friend Julie at the local pub and I spotted a dark-haired stranger playing pool. The next thing I knew he was blowing me a kiss!
I was 50, a divorcée, and a mum to three grown-up daughters, Emma, now 34, Lucy, 28, and Carina, 21. Flattered by the attention, I smiled back. But the next time I looked around, he had gone.
In love and so…