Walking down the hall, shrieks of laughter echoed from my daughter’s bedroom.
‘Here we go again,’ I smiled, rolling my eyes.
It was June 2016, and Kelly, 25, was getting ready for a night out with the girls.
She’d spent the last four years at Leeds University studying child education, hoping to become a social worker one day.
With just me, my husband Paul, now 56, and our son Adrian, 34, at home, the house had been so quiet without Kelly.
And now that she was back, I was so happy to hear the laughter again – to hear her voice every day.
Kelly had always been the life of the party – her bubbly personality was infectious, and everyone adored her.
‘Cheers!’ I heard her and the girls chime, clinking glasses.
After much planning and saving up, they’d just booked a six-month round-the-world trip, starting off in East Asia and Australia.
