My father murdered my mother on my third birthday by beating and strangling her. We need to talk about women like me living in the shadow of domestic violence

Olivia thought no one would watch her video - 5 million did She recalls her mother lying on the f loor

WHENEVER Olivia Shelby posts footage on social media of her beloved horses, there is usually a snide comment or two. ‘There’ll be remarks about “daddy’s money”, or that I’m from a privileged background,’ says the 21-year-old graphic designer.

‘People have absolutely no idea about the reality of my life.’

This — together with loneliness, and a grief that will never leave her — is one of the reasons why, on Christmas Eve last year Olivia uploaded an emotional video to TikTok.

‘Here’s a story of how my dad killed my mum on my third birthday,’ is how she described it — a stark summary of a single violent act which has reverberated throughout her life.

Choking back tears, Olivia revealed how 18 years ago her father strangled her 35-year-old mother as she, their little daughter, lay asleep after marking her third birthday with a cake and a film.

It left Olivia without both her mother, to whom she bears a striking resemblance but has no memory of, and her father: he was sent to prison for murder and Olivia has never been able to bring herself to have a relationship with him. His crime also fractured her relationship with the rest of her paternal family, and caused years of grief, regret and loneliness as milestone birthdays, Christmases and Mother’s Days passed by — reminders of what she had lost.

The petite and quietly-spoken brunette posted her video both to highlight the devastating ongoing legacy of domestic abuse and the lack of support for children who, though victims, are left to navigate their future with little help and advice.

She thought no one would watch it, but millions did: five million and counting. Olivia has been contacted by hundreds of people, thanking her for highlighting the grim reality of abuse in the home. Going public — including speaking to the Mail today — is something that does not come naturally after a lifetime of locking away her emotions.

‘I’ve just kept what happened inside for ever. I don’t talk about it, even to those closest to me,’ she says. ‘But I know how much it has affected me. I don’t think you ever really get over it.’

Olivia is certainly not alone. According to recent figures 265 women have died violently since 1996 up until January this year.

While specific data is not available, John Devaney, a professor of social work at the University of Edinburgh, believes over 100 children a year a year end up grieving for parents lost to this particularly devastating crime.

Olivia is one of them, although you would not know it to meet her. On the surface, she has built a happy life. She runs her own graphic design and digital content business and has a boyfriend of two years, Mike, whom she met through their mutual love of cars.

She takes huge pleasure in her eight horses, many of whom are rescued. ‘I don’t know what my life would be like without them, to be honest,’ she says.

Nonetheless, just a short time in her company is enough to reveal the continuing trauma from an event which, given her age at the time, she has had to piece together from newspaper reports and information from relatives.

Anxious to share her story, Olivia nonetheless clearly struggles to do so, sometimes falling silent, unable to find the words.

Her mother’s murder happened thousands of miles away in the Canadian province of British Columbia — an area to which both her maternal and paternal grandparents had moved some decades ago from their native England.

Her father, Bradley Benham — who already had a son, Reece, now 31, from a previous relationship — was working as a mechanic and, like Olivia’s mum, Lisa Cubin, was in his early thirties when the couple met through friends.

They set up home in the picturesque neighbourhood of South Surrey, a few miles south of Vancouver, but their relationship was tempestuous, not least because Benham was a heavy drinker and had become addicted to cocaine.

‘My brother Reece has told me there were happy memories. On the weekends we’d have nice family days out, but things went wrong when he [Benham] drank. I know my mum’s side of the family were not happy with the relationship,’ Olivia says.

But even they could not imagine the horror to come on a November evening in 2005.

It was Olivia’s third birthday, and she has a hazy memory of the family snuggled up on cushions watching the cartoon Finding Nemo on the television.

‘In my mind that was a happy thing,’ she says.

She will never know exactly what happened next, but has a faint recollection of waking to find her mother lying on the floor, and trying to shake her awake.

‘Later I told police that she must have eaten a sandwich, as she had ketchup over her,’ she recalls.

That ketchup was, of course, blood. And her mother would never wake up again. Her father had badly beaten, then strangled her. Some time later, he took Olivia to his childhood home, a farm owned by his parents.

For several years, only the dimmest of memories follow: of Lisa’s mum, Linda, telling her granddaughter that her mother had gone away for a while, and of being taken to counselling and screaming the place down. Poignantly, she has memories of her dad taking her horse-riding.

‘He wasn’t jailed until three years after the crime, so he was around for those next three years and in my life,’ she says. ‘That’s one thing I struggle with a lot, that I have memories of doing nice things with