As Wham!'s Last Christmas blared from the radio, I woke up bleary eyed.
My head throbbing, I reached for the glass of water on my bedside table.
‘You all right?’ my husband Rafe, then 35, asked.
It was Christmas Day 2018 and we'd got into the spirit the night before.
Only looking at Rafe, I could see that, unlike me, he was fresh faced.
‘Fine,’ I lied.
‘Good,’ he said, pecking me on the cheek. ‘I'll bring you up a cuppa.’
As he padded downstairs, tears pricked my eyes.
This was no ordinary Christmas hangover.
Truth was, I'd been overdoing the drinking for two months now.
Overwhelmed with grief.
See, this
