I thought I could never leave my little girls. But I had to.My husband told me that the accident was my fault. That I was to blame when our beautiful, funny two-year-old daughter almost died.So ten months ago I left. I left our isolated house in the wild, windswept village where we lived. I left my little girls. And every day away from them was agony. I missed the soapy smell of their hair and their laughs and the way they played together under the apple tree.But now I’m back, knocking on my own front door like a stranger.There’s a woman living in my home. Taking care of my daughters. Sharing a bed with my husband.And she has a newborn baby.Everything I thought I knew . . . was a lie.
