Pushing open the door to my daughter’s room, I already had a smile on my face.
I always loved mornings with my 20-month-old daughter Margot.
She’d greet me with her infectious grin, reaching out for a morning snuggle.
Usually, Margot was an early riser and had me and her daddy, Ben, then 39, out of bed by 5am.
Only this day, in May 2021, was different.
It was past 7am.
I just assumed Margot was giving her mum a much-needed lie-in.
‘Morning Margot,’ I said, moving towards her cot.
But as I clamped eyes on her, shock ran through me like an electric current.
There was no sunny smile, no crinkly blue eyes.
Instead, she looked
