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This article contains content that some readers may find distressing.
I was at home watching TV when I looked out the window to see a group of men marching down my driveway towards my front door.
They knocked and said they were plain-clothes detectives from the child protection unit.
They told me they were there about my 15-year-old daughter Carrie* and my blood ran cold.
Watch: Women and violence: The hidden numbers. Post continues below.
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I had separated from my husband in 2018. Carrie was 10 at the time and our only child. Later that year I started dating my coworker Kyle*, who I'd known for two years by then. He was charming, funny and made me feel really good about myself... I fell hard.
A year later, I moved in with him. Carrie would stay with us during the week and with my ex-husband during weekends and holidays. We all seemed to be adjusting well to the new situation. Kyle was absolutely wonderful with my daughter and they adored each other. There was so much joy and laughter — but then the pandemic hit.
Both Kyle and I were essential workers so work became stressful. I struggled to cope and eventually had to give up my job entirely because of my poor mental health.
Carrie was in her first year of high school and didn’t cope well with the disruption of schooling from home, so my ex-husband and I decided she might be happier living with him and his new partner who also had daughters.
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