Of course, people will be saying, ‘How could she have suspected her ex of all this and never taken action?’ Of course they fucking will. It’s all the above and more. I’m too scared that I will be wrong, even when I’m right. That’s how it makes you. Unsure of everything you say. Suspicious that you are seeing things from the wrong perspective permanently. They’ll be the same people who look at women who don’t leave their abusive partners and pour scorn on them. ‘Why didn’t she just leave?’ Because she’s in a psychological prison that they are too single-minded to understand. Because the consequences for everyone, especially her children, are too high. The other person is holding all the cards. Every single one of them and the fear is so deep that it’s impossible. You know this, Jack, don’t you?

You’ll be pushing for another search of our house, more disruption to my life. Pushing me over the edge of my sanity. It’s not going to work. You should know this. You’re the expert. All that training you did; all the nature/nurture debates you had with people who weren’t really interested.

You’re the one who lectured me on the unconditional love that mothers have for their children. Your passive-aggressive style of making a point coming into its own as you verbally punished me for wanting to go back to work after having Laura. You never said it outright, so I could never accuse you, but you went on at length about how ‘kids who are “farmed out” end up damaged, it’s against what nature intended’.

Now it’s going to bite you on the arse because just when you think you’re wearing me down, when you think I am weak again, I’m the strongest I’ve ever been. That’s the thing about being a mother. Whether you like it or not, you love your kids. Not like romantic love that can change to hate or that you can get over, given time, but a visceral caring that, even if you try to force it, won’t go away.

It’s a deep worry that your child is hungry, in danger, making bad decisions, crying. I’ve had to sit here night after night wondering if Charlie and Laura were crying, ill, hurt, happy, sad; and not being able to go to them. I tried everything to forget, to stop the gnawing at my soul. I distracted myself with work and vodka and Amazon Prime and Premier Inn. I tried to convince myself that they had forgotten about me. That they no longer thought about me and their childhood with their mummy.