**Diary Entry**
I pulled into the drive last night, exhausted but relieved to be home after our short break in the Lake District. It was the first time in years that James and I had gone away without the children. Wed left our two little onesLily, six, and Oliver, fourwith my mum, Helen, a retired midwife whod always doted on them.
Id been nervous, of course. Mum had been forgetful latelylosing her glasses, repeating herselfbut James had reassured me. Shes raised children before, hed said. She adores them. Theyll be fine.
The house was silent when I stepped inside. No excited shouts, no little feet running to greet us. Just cold stillness. My stomach twisted as I dropped my bag and hurried into the lounge.
There they wereLily and Oliver, curled on the sofa, pale and still. I screamed, falling to my knees, shaking them, begging them to wake up. James froze in the doorway, his face crumbling. Call 999! he shouted, voice breaking.
The paramedics arrived quickly, but it was too late. My babies were gone. The world collapsed around me. Then I noticed Mum in the kitchen, sipping tea with trembling hands.
What did you do? I screamed.
She looked up, her eyes clouded. They wouldnt stop crying for you I gave them a bit of my sleeping tablets. Just to help them rest.
The police investigation confirmed itLily and Oliver had overdosed on Mums prescription sleeping pills. Shed crushed them into their squash, not realising how deadly even a small dose could be for children.
In court, she wept, insisting shed never meant to hurt them. I love them more than anything, she kept saying. But love didnt bring them back.
The jury found her guilty of manslaughter. With her declining memory, she was sentenced to five years in a care facility. I lost my childrenand in a way, I lost my mother too.
Our home is a ghost of what it was. Lilys drawings still hang on the fridge; Olivers toy cars gather dust. James and I go through the motions, but the grief is unbearable. Some days, I blame myself. Why did I leave them? Why didnt I trust my instincts?
Mum writes from the home, full of apologies. I see their faces every night, she says. I cant bring myself to read them. The pain is too deep.
Now, standing by their graves in the churchyard, I whisper the words that haunt me: I thought she loved you. I thought you were safe.
The papers called it a tragic warning about dementia and care. But for me, its not a lessonits my life, shattered. And every night, I close my eyes and hear Lilys laugh, Olivers chatter, echoes of a future stolen too soon.
