So, where were we? Three kids. Two serious relationships down. A rape I hadn't properly processed. A neighbour who had terrorised me and my family. Enough emotional baggage to fill the boot of a car. And still, somehow, absolutely no fucking clue what was coming next. By this point, my sons' dad and I had admitted our relationship was over. And once again, I was trying to work out what life looked like afterwards. But this time, the next man who came into my life wasn't some

So there I was. Four children of my own. A stepson. A fiancé. A wedding being planned. A daughter we'd nearly lost before she'd even been born. A relationship that already had cracks in it. And yet, I was still looking at the whole thing and thinking: We can make this work. Because that's what I did. I tried. I forgave. I hoped. And I kept thinking the difficult parts were just that. Difficult parts. Not warnings. Not patterns. Not signs of what was coming. Then came the dent

After he was arrested, I was angry. Actually, angry doesn't really cover it. Months of accusations. Months of being watched. Months of having to prove where I was, who I was with, what I was doing and why a fucking dot on Life360 had moved somewhere it shouldn't have. Months of being accused of cheating. Months of photographs. Videos. FaceTimes. Questions. Interrogations. Violence. Being made to admit to things I hadn't done just to try to make it stop. And now he was sitting