Joy Prichard, 48
Lying on my bedroom floor, I felt blood dripping down my cheek.
Pain seared through my entire body.
I could hear my two younger children – Morgan, 9, and Ellis, 4 – crying.
At that moment I knew enough was enough.
It was June 2009, and my partner of seven years, Dale, then 35, had thrown me on our bed, smashed a can of cider in my face.
Dale had seemed charming when I met him in a nightclub in Caerphilly, in August 2002.
For a while things were good.
I already had three children from a previous relationship, my son, 8, daughter Hannah, 6, and Morgan, 2.
We had Ellis in November 2004, married two years later.
But that’s when the fairytale ended.
Dale drank, picked…
