I will never forget the look on that idiot girl’s face when I confronted her and took Frankie. I knew the teenager wouldn’t scream or cry out. She wouldn’t want to attract attention to what she’d done. She was trapped with her terrible secret.

I didn’t intend to keep Frankie at first. I was going to take her straight back but once I’d got her in the van I realized something: I wanted to spend some time with her. Quality time, getting to know her. She wasn’t scared that night. She was too sleepy and confused. She went to sleep almost immediately and I sat and stroked her hair, thinking that she was beautiful.

When morning came she wanted to know where mummy and daddy were. I promised I’d take her home, and even set off towards their house, planning to drop her off nearby, sure she would find her way home.

But the nearer we got to the house, the more I realized I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take her back.

She was so perfect. The child I’d always dreamed of. I deserved her and Sean and Helen didn’t. It was as simple as that. Why should they have everything while I had nothing?

So I kept driving. Out of the city. We drove for miles and miles.

I knew the police would think that Frankie (and I would change her name, as soon as I could) had been taken by the same people who had taken Izzy and Liam, the children who were all over the news. Unless that teenage moron confessed – and I couldn’t see that happening – the police would be on the wrong trail.

It was so easy. For the first time in my shit life, I had a stroke of luck.

I used to think God hated me. Now, it seemed, He was finally on my side.

Until they caught the people who took Liam and killed Izzy. Since then, I’ve been worried. Any day now they are going to find out what happened. That teen is going to crack and confess. Or someone will see us.

The more I think about it, the more determined I am that we will never be torn apart again. I can’t let that happen. I lost everything once, and now I’ve got what I’ve wanted all these years, I would rather die than lose it again.

I insert the tampon and wash my hands. Frankie is lying on the bed, her hair matted and filthy. She flinches when I reach out a hand to stroke it.

There’s a newspaper lying on the floor, one I picked up earlier. There, on page five, is the familiar photo. ‘Helen and Sean Philips with their missing daughter, Frankie.’ I touch Sean’s face then fold the paper over so Helen, on the far left, is removed.

A voice behind me says, ‘Daddy.’