For the last year of living with Tom, Rosie would come home from school, go straight to her bedroom and stay there until the next morning, apart from coming down for meals and when Tom was at the pub. She’d stopped being affectionate with me, wore black all the time and just looked so sad every single day.

Today, she came downstairs dressed in bright colours, walked up to me and hugged me. She sat with me on the sofa and cuddled into me, where she stayed for the rest of the afternoon watching films and chatting. At one point, she said to me, “Mum, when we lived with Tom and after we’d gone to bed at night, we used to hear him screaming and yelling at you. Amelia used to get out of her bed, climb into mine and put her hands over my ears to try and stop me from hearing it.”

I never knew this. I thought they weren’t too aware of what went on between Tom and I, but I was wrong.

Knowing that my children were suffering so much yet hiding it from me is devastating. I’ve hurt them so much with my inability to leave him for so long, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make amends to all of them for the damage that’s been caused by both Tom and me.