Playing in my bedroom with my toys, I was completely lost in my own imagination.
At nine years old, I’d run upstairs after having tea with my mum Sarah to enjoy my playtime.
And like most nights, my stepdad Pete would join me.
‘What are you up to?’ he’d smile, sitting on the floor.
Grabbing my hedgehog toy, he’d start playing with me.
Then, he’d tickle me.
Giggling, he’d lift up my vest and place his lips on my belly.
Blowing hard, raspberries rippled across my skin.
I started laughing.
‘You’re my favourite,’ he’d say.
He always made me feel so special.
With Mum splitting from my dad when I was three, I didn’t have a father figure.
At least until Pete moved in when I was eight.
Mum and Pete had been dating since I was four, so he’d always been in my life.
One day, Pete surprised Mum by showing her a photo he’d taken.
‘Look at this photo of Katie,’ he beamed.
It was of me playing on some rocks, while out on a family walk.
‘That’s so lovely,’ Mum smiled, framing it.
I idolised Pete.
He was like a father to me.
Going for walks along the beach, I’d hold Mum and Pete’s hands.
One day,
