I remember now, how my little Gracie used to love going to the park. She used to be fascinated with the squirrels and the birds. We’d feed the ducks and go to the play park, sometimes taking a picnic and making a day of it. It was lovely when Darren would come with us too. I was so proud of our lovely little family. That’s all I ever wanted… a little family of my own. It wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? Or maybe it was. Every time I think of her, I get this whooshing in my ears and a pressure on my chest. I spoke to Dr Medway about it, and he told me those sensations are all part of my grief. I never really mourned Grace when she died. So getting my memories back has been painful. It’s as though I’ve lost my daughter all over again.

That’s why, when I saw Bella with her distinctive colouring, I had such a physical reaction – she reminded me of my Grace. The real Grace. But, at that time, I was so entrenched in my Rachel persona, the person I’d convinced myself I was for years, that I couldn’t make the connection to my daughter Grace. Instead I believed she was Holly, the missing daughter I’d invented. Rachel’s missing daughter, who never really existed. And Jess… well, I believed she really was my daughter.

I know the truth now. Seven years ago, my daughter Grace died. She drowned in the bath. It was an accident. I’m starting to understand that. But it doesn’t stop me feeling like I was to blame. Like I was an unfit mother.

I carry on pacing in my room, my anxiety levels rising. I really do need to get out of here. I can’t even settle to counting the tiles again.

Those false memories I had of Holly were in fact real memories of my dead daughter Grace. Because it was Grace who had the same heart-shaped face and freckled snub nose as Bella. The same dark hair and green eyes. That’s why it hit me so hard when I saw Bella. It was as though Bella was my poor little Gracie returned from the dead. Living the life she was supposed to live, instead of drowning in a few inches of water and lying forgotten in a London churchyard. The truth was trying to surface in my mind.

I put my fist into my mouth to stop the tears. Although Dr Medway says it’s good to cry. It’s healthy. But if I break down again then I might not get my morning walk outside. And I really do need that walk. I should try to think about something else. Something less upsetting. My mind scrolls through for something else to latch onto. Something other than Grace…