Cocooned in the semi-darkness, I stroked my daughter’s blonde hair, as she lay in my arms on the back seat of our family car. Wearing her pink pyjamas, and wrapped in her favourite Disney blanket, Olivia, five, looked so peaceful. It was the early hours of the morning in June 2018 and the dimly lit streets were deserted as my husband, Tony, then 41, drove onwards in silence, while my older daughter, Eva, 10, sat in the passenger seat.
It was Olivia’s sixth birthday that August, but there would be no cake, or party, for my little girl. Wiping away my tears, I realised I’d never hear her cheeky laugh, see her beautiful smile or watch her dance again. I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to say goodbye.
Just…
