I'd suffered a hangman's fracture and a bleed on my brain As I was about to leave my friend’s shop to drive home, my husband Nic, 37, called.
‘Can you pick up a few bits for dinner?’ he asked, reeling off a list.
It was a Saturday in February 2011, and I was heading back for an evening in with him and our daughters Zoe, 7, and Rebecca, 5.
After stopping at the shop, I gave him a quick call.
‘I’ll be home in 10 minutes,’ I said.
Then I got back behind the wheel of the van we used for the furniture business Nic and I ran.
It wasn’t a long trip, and one I must’ve made hundreds of times.
But as I was driving along a country lane,…
