‘You won't live to see New Year'

Stacy Anderson, 42, was returning from a day of festive family fun, but her ex was lurking...

- FRANCES LEATE, CANDICE FERNANDEZ

Jotting down a customer’s order in the cafe where I worked, I groaned inwardly as All I Want For Christmas Is You played for the third time that morning. I was a few hours into my shift and my feet were already aching, but then a tall, well-built man in a leather jacket came in and sat down. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he grinned.

‘You too,’ I laughed. His name was Adrian Permetter and the hairs on my arms prickled, the tinsel in my hair crinkling against my shoulders, as weflirted. Adrian, then 31, gave me his number, and after several dates, I introduced him to my daughter Asthon, then nine, and son Destin, seven. They adored him immediately, especially when he spoilt them with PlayStation games and trainers that Christmas Day in 2012.

In April 2014 we moved in together, and were happy, with Adrian treating Asthon and Destin like his own. Until one night, without warning, Adrian crashed into our bedroom, drunk, at 1am, ranting about me cheating because I hadn’t answered my phone. Grabbing my hair and pulling me out of bed, he swung his foot into my ribs. ‘Stop!’ I screamed, terrified, as his fist crunched into my cheekbone, the pain taking my breath away. ‘This isn’t you,’ I gasped, shaking and sobbing as I cowered on the floor.

Ready to run

‘This is me, Stacy,’ he sneered, before storming out of the house. I had no idea what to do. In shock and agony I crawled back into bed, where I fell into a fitful sleep, terrified he’d return.

Thankfully, the kids had been staying at their grandparents’, but arrived home to see my swollen cheek and bruised jaw. ‘Poor Mummy,’ said Asthon when I lied, saying I’d been hit during a row at the petrol station.