After tucking my doona snugly around me, my dad Brett, then 30, picked up the copy of Dumbo, the Flying Elephant from my bedside table and began to read.
‘The world’s only flying elephant!’ Dad beamed, doing his best impression of the mouse in the story.
Giggling, I snuggled under the covers. Then aged six, I loved Dad’s bedtime stories. Despite being a military man, he was a big softy at heart.
Before meeting our stepmum, Bree, he’d been a solo parent to me and my brother Jacob, nine.
