Standing in the kitchen, I passed my husband his plate.
I couldn’t wait to have dinner and put my feet up after a long day.
It was just after 7pm and with both my daughters, Hannah, two, and Laura, five months, asleep in bed, my husband Elliott, 29, and I finally relaxed.
A hard worker, Elliott loved running his own painting and decorating company, while I had my own hairdressing salon.
As Elliott walked around the sofa clutching his plate, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him trip over Laura’s toy-covered baby bouncer.
Suddenly his strapping 187cm-tall frame hurtled towards the two-metre square
