By the time I get home, I’ve decided there’s no time to waste; that the sooner I remove Niamh from Andrew’s toxic influence, the better for both of us. And I don’t want Andrew getting wind of our plans. It will take less than a day to pack what we need of our clothes and personal things – everything that used to be so important to me. But only one thing matters now, and that’s freedom.

Already, I’ve mentally listed what I want to take – surplus china and cutlery in the kitchen that we’ve never used, spare bed linen, but most important are my photographs, books, and the old case I have that’s filled with mementos of Niamh and Dylan growing up. As unwanted emotion wells up in me, I smother it before it takes a hold. This isn’t the time. I have to stay strong.

When Niamh comes home, I wait for her to get herself a drink and go upstairs to change. When she comes back down, I seize the moment.

‘Niamh? I need to talk to you about something.’

When she looks up, her eyes are troubled before the familiar guarded look masks them. ‘Come and sit down.’ I walk over to the sofa, sit, and wait for her to do the same. She seems reluctant as she perches next to me. I study her face. ‘You know how, the other day, I told you I was going to do something to change things? Well, I’ve found a house, Niamh. For you and me.’ I watch her blink several times. ‘We don’t have to stay with your father anymore, or put up with the way he treats us. I’ve let it go on too long. What he does isn’t right – and it isn’t how families are supposed to be. You do realise that, don’t you?’

To my horror, she starts to cry. I try to reassure her. ‘It will be OK, Niamh. I’ll make it OK, I promise you …’

Just then, I hear Andrew’s car, back two hours earlier than I expected him. Before I can say anything else, Niamh gets up and runs from the room. As he throws the back door open a few moments later, I can sense his mood even before I see his face.

Sudden, inexplicable fear strikes me, that Niamh will tell Andrew what I’ve done. After hurrying upstairs, I knock softly on her door, then push it open. Sprawled on her bed, Niamh is sobbing her heart out.

Pushing the door closed, I tiptoe over to her. ‘Niamh,’ I whisper. ‘Honey …’ The endearment is unfamiliar to both of us. ‘What is it?’

My blood chills as I make out her words through her muffled sobs. ‘I don’t want to go.’