The four days in hospital seemed interminable. Mrs Barley had helped Jack to prepare the house for my return. The ‘Welcome Home’ banner secured above the front door, with pastel pink and white balloons at either end, made me weep. Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy as I eased myself across the threshold, a sleeping Elodie securely in a sling against my chest.

I felt a hormonal rush of emotion. Tears were never far away at this time, a whole spectrum of thoughts running through my mind. It was all so bittersweet. I loved my baby so much that it hurt, but I had to live with the certainty that one day she would grow up and leave me. The thought was incredibly, irrationally painful.

The table was laid with sandwiches and fairy cakes, a vase of beautiful pink and white carnations placed in the centre. An animated Mrs Barley busied herself making tea. Exhausted, I lowered myself gingerly onto the settee, resting Elodie’s head on my shoulder.

Mrs Barley placed a steaming mug on the side table next to me. She tilted her head to one side, gazing at Elodie with evident adoration.

‘She’s just beautiful. Such a little dot. You are so lucky.’ Her face clouded for a moment. ‘So lucky,’ she murmured again, as if thinking aloud.

My heart went out to her. Mrs Barley was all alone in the world, with no children or grandchildren of her own to dote on. It was so sad. ‘Would you like to hold her?’ My voice wobbled with emotion.

I straightened, wincing as I felt a pull on my stitches.

‘Just you be careful, now. You need to look after yourself, get your strength back for the sake of this precious bundle.’ She leaned forward and gently took Elodie from me, her eyes never straying from my daughter’s face. Elodie’s tiny hand curled tightly round Mrs Barley’s extended finger as she nestled in her arms.

‘Oh my, she is so perfect.’ She spoke in a whisper. Looking up at me, her eyes swam with tears. ‘You wonder how anyone could ever be cruel to a helpless little soul such as this. The world can be a terrible place.’

It was not a thought I wanted to dwell on, having just brought my daughter into it. I watched as Mrs Barley rocked Elodie, humming a strange, haunting little melody to her as she did so. She carried her to the window and stared out into the garden. I could hear her talking softly but the words evaded me. Maybe she was showing Elodie the flowers.

Jack sat beside me on the sofa, sliding an arm round my shoulders. He leaned in and brushed my cheek with his lips.

‘How are you doing? You look shattered.’