The greatest loss
Gathering round the table with our family, a chorus of Happy Birthday rang out. George, our youngest, was only turning one, but his face lit up at the sight of his cake and flickering candles. My husband, Paul, 33, and I had married in 2006, and dreamt of a big family, so felt blessed with Holly, then three, Isaac, two, and baby George.
Paul was a wonderful father who adored his kids, doing night feeds and cooking tea. On weekends, we’d ride bikes or spend afternoons giggling and playing on the floor.
One evening in February 2012, a week after George’s birthday tea party, Paul and I bathed the kids together, and wrestled them into their pyjamas. ‘A bit of TV, then bed,’ he smiled,
