Lugging the last of the boxes into the house, I was exhausted.
My wife, Leanne, 39, and son Daniel, 15, followed me in, collapsing on the sofa we’d hauled in a couple of hours prior.
It was positioned across from a dated fireplace.
‘Anyone want a cup of tea?’ my sister Deborah, 51, shouted from the kitchen next door.
‘I’d love one, thanks,’ I replied, coming in to help.
It felt strange moving my sister back to the estate we had grown up on.
After suffering a brain aneurysm a few years ago and
