Weaving between the trees, I giggled as my mum Rania, then 25, did her best to chase me.
‘Got you,’ she said, scooping me up.
It was January 2013 and, aged 9, I was playing hideand-seek in the woods with Mum, my brother, then 7, and my 3-year-old sister.
My parents had moved to the UK from Syria when Mum was pregnant with me.
In search of a better life.
Beautiful and clever, Mum studied English at college.
My dad Ahmed, then 36, worked for a takeaway shop.
As a family, we went on trips to the beach or to local farms to see the animals.
But despite my happy childhood, I often heard raised voices behind Mum and Dad’s bedroom door.
They tried to hide it but I knew…
