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Our little boy hadn’t asked to be conceived through rape.

He was an innocent victim, just as I was. In September 2014, Oliver arrived by Caesarean.

With a shock of dark hair and my big, blue eyes, he was striking.

‘He looks just like you,’ Jeff smiled proudly.

And, from the start, Oliver was a daddy’s boy.

He loved cuddles with Jeff, sleeping in his arms. And Jeff doted on him. The kids didn’t treat Oliver any differently, either. They loved him no matter what.

Meanwhile, the police were still investigating my case.

Early last year, I was told that a woman had been found raped and murdered. She was a redhead, just like me.

Months on, another woman was raped and killed. Another redhead… Police believed it was my attacker – and that he could be a serial killer, targeting women with red hair.

I felt physically sick, terrified.

And guilty that those women died, while I’d survived.

‘He needs to be stopped,’ I sobbed to Jeff.

Then, last July, the police phoned me with some shocking news.

‘Your attacker is dead,’ an officer told me.

He’d been killed by someone who was out for revenge. At first, I was horrified. But then I thought about those poor women he’d murdered. Memories of my own attack flooded back.

I could have been one of them...

‘I’m glad that he’s dead,’ I replied. It meant that I was safe, Oliver was safe, and that beast couldn’t hurt any other women. Our nightmare was finally over. Oliver is 3 now. He loves dinosaurs, and playing football with his big brothers. He adores Jeff and follows him everywhere. ‘Puppet show, Daddy!’ he begs every night before bed, and Jeff happily obliges. One day, we’ll tell him how he came into this world. We’ll explain he brought us so much happiness, after such a dark time. That he helped us heal. So, to answer any burning questions about whether I love him any less… Not a chance. I love him unconditionally.

He could be a serial killer, targeting women with red hair