Bianca Collins, 33
As I glanced out of the front window, I saw a little blur whoosh past.
My daughter Aliannah, then 6, was racing up and down our quiet street on her bike.
Legs pumping, leaning low over the handlebars, a huge toothy grin on her face.
‘Having fun?’ I asked, when she came in for her tea, bright red and out of puff.
It was November 2021 and Ali was always on the move.
She loved whizzing around our street on her bike and was the fastest runner in her class at school.
Constantly rushing around with her older sisters Sophie, then 14, Chelsea, 12, and Shae-Lea, 10.
But that December, I noticed she was very pale.
Didn't quite seem herself.
‘My tummy hurts, Mummy,’ she moaned.
Putting…
