My survivor

Pottering around the house, I fancied some fresh air.

‘Do you want to go for a walk this afternoon?’ I asked my husband, Scott, 46.

‘Sounds great,’ he replied. ‘Let me just get the dog on the lead and we can set off.’

We’d always loved getting outdoors together – especially going on long walks through the rural Pentland Hills, not far from our hometown.

While they were young, we’d even roped our kids, Blake, now 19, and Rosie, now 17, into joining our hikes – but now they’d grown up, it was just the two of us once more, accompanied by our pup, Clint.

Fridays were often our walking days, to destress from the busy week.

But one Friday morning, on 7 February 2020, Scott was feeling unwell.

Being a keen sportsman who coached a boxing group at the