“On the first night back into our old routine, she took us all to the movies. At this time, Sam was 12, and Kyle 10. TJ was 8, Scott was 6, I was 4 and Max was 2 and a half. We had had a really nice evening, just like old time, so we stopped off and rented a movie. When we got home, we all ran upstairs to get into our pyjamas, ready for the film and a takeaway. We began to play the film, extra loud to block out the sound of music from the kid’s 18^th birthday next door. I drew the short straw and was sent down to give the orders for dinner.” I cringed at the thought of that dream all those weeks ago. It replayed in my head over and over and I knew I would have to actually relive it when I told it to them. “I walked into the kitchen and she was just sitting there, a bottle of empty vodka and a letter in her hands. I realise now that the letter was from Uncle Bill, wanting a divorce. I now think that the only reason she went to those meetings was to show him how much she had changed and wanted to give them another try. “Auntie? Auntie Megan, are you okay?" I called out to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she spun round fast, smacking me hard across the face in the process, making me fall onto the floor. I remember her eyes, they didn't look real; they were different to her normal dark caramel colour. They looked so full of angry, making it impossible not to stare back into them. I felt her shoe hit my ribs with hard as she screamed abuse at me."You worthless bitch! You good for nothing whore! Why don't you just do everyone a favour, and die!" With every insult, came a new way for my body to ache, to bleed and to feel. I was helpless. No one could hear my screams because of the music and the film blaring from inside and around the house. I thought my luck was changing when she disappeared; I thought this was my time to escape, to get out, to warn my family but she returned as I began to get to my feet. I tried to run upstairs to warn my brothers, but she ran over to me and grabbed me roughly by the scruff of the neck, pulling me back, and flinging me down the stairs. I knew she had to be quick because the film upstairs stopped and a door opened. I stayed as still as I could, a frightened and helpless little 4 year old girl, lying  in a pool of broken glass, mixed with her own blood. Her face was full of a new type of angry I had never seen her wear before. She pulled the carving knife out of kitchen draw and began to trace my lips, my arms, my veins…”