Terri Rae, 34, from Plymouth
As my phone started buzzing on my desk at home, I immediately recognised the phone number.
‘It’s the nursery calling,’ I told my colleagues, as we had our virtual morning meeting in July 2020. ‘I’d better take this.’
Just a few hours earlier, I’d dropped my youngest son Harris, then one, to nursery.
And as I handed him over, he seemed as content as ever.
But now, the nursery assistant seemed a little bit concerned about him.
‘Harris has blood in his nappy,’ she told me. ‘You should probably come and get him.’
Not one to panic, I wondered if Harris had maybe cut himself or was suffering from a urine infection.
‘Can you send a photo?’ I asked.
But once I saw his
