A happy evening with friends and family at a party, eating mince pies, wearing our Christmas jumpers, as my husband Stu entertained the children in his Santa suit. Smiles on children's faces, including my son Fraser, seven, and daughter Elizabeth, three. Setting off on a happy walk home, through the cold night air, singing songs together, Stu leading the crowd. Then, a scream, plunging everything into a state of numbness, and the realisation that nothing would ever be the same again.

For years, this is how I remembered that night in December. And whenever Christmas rolled around, I refused to allow myself any excitement, instead replaying that awful night over and over again in my mind and remembering everything that I'd lost.

Christmas used to be such a happy time for me and my family - the best time of the year in fact. Stuart and I had married in December 2006 and festivities had crept into our big day. This included my gown, which I'd designed myself, made with Swarovski crystals glistening like snowdrops, and having our photographs taken at Winter Wonderland as we walked to our wedding reception, which was held at Cardiff Castle.

After we had our son Fraser in 2008 and daughter Elizabeth in 2012, Christmas became even more special. There were yearly anniversary trips to Winter Wonderland and Cardiff Castle, and cosy nights watching festive movies. Only, as time went by, Stu found it increasingly hard to keep his big secret from the kids. For years, he'd volunteered as Santa at local fairs and parties, but Fraser and Elizabeth had never guessed. I loved Stu's dedication to his role, and I even nicknamed him Mr Wonderful, because he really was.

Santa's little helper