Cradling my baby, Layla, nine months, in my arms as removalists bustled to and fro with boxes, the phone rang.
When my partner Ben, then 32, answered the phone it was my sister Madi. As the colour drained from his face, he passed the phone to my shocked stepdad, Chris.
‘Your mum has passed away,’ Chris said gently.
Staring down at Layla in disbelief, it felt like the world had stopped.
‘No. Not your grandma!’ I screamed. ‘This can’t be happening.’
My mum, Vanessa, was only 62. She’d always been my greatest cheerleader.
A drama
