I was increasingly afraid of Leo’s fluctuating mood, and struggled to hide my anxiety from my little daughter, Gitelle. I was always on edge, anxious about the unknown, how he would treat me.

The fear was often unbearable and I would hide, protecting myself from any danger. Gitelle grew up seeing me curl under beds, or crouching behind locked doors. She often caught my crying, my head in my hands. I tried not to scare her, poor thing, but I couldn’t contain my fear.

One day, the abuse got too much for me and I had to run away. I can’t remember what happened, my memory has blanked it out. It must have been pretty terrible for me to leave; I don’t remember much, but I have never forgotten how frightened I was.

Leo had gone out, and I told poor little Gitelle that we were going to Greystanes, the house where my parents lived. I had only a short time to leave the house so we ran, taking just one small bag. We took the tube, then walked 2 miles to my old home. We went so often, yet I was never happier to see it. I told my dear Daddy that I could not go back, begging him to let me stay.