Not So 'Caring' Now...

Discovering my attacker’s job truly appalled me.

- Bess Browning, Emika Berry

Watching the happy couple float around the room in each other’s arms warmed my heart.

I love a wedding, I thought. As the second verse of their first dance kicked in, guests swept on to the floor, with their other halves.

I pulled my hubby Scott, then 28, over to join them, swishing my long gown.

It was June 2018 and we were at the Assembly Rooms for my cousin’s wedding.

The rest of the evening was joyous.

A proper family knees-up. ‘Time to get back to the kids,’ I yawned to Scott just after 11pm.

Our little ones – Jayden, 7, and Tommy, 2 – were at home with a babysitter.

Leaving Scott inside chatting, I grabbed my bag and made for the door.

The street outside was buzzing with Saturdaynight revellers and wedding guests milling around.

Scrolling through my phone for a taxi number, I walked round the street corner to find some quiet.

I stood outside the Mile Castle pub, where a group of people were lingering.

One woman was mumbling under her breath, looking in my direction.

Is she talking to me, I thought, puzzled.

And where’s Scott got to?

I was planning to pop back to say my goodbyes anyway, once I’d booked the taxi.

Only, as I went to dial, I felt a force pulling me to the concrete floor.

My dress ripped as I shouted out in shock.

Before I knew it, fists were flinging towards my face.

I cowered, but tried to defend myself from this woman towering over me.