Noah was born in March, on a snowy Tuesday.

Tom didn't come. Nobody from the Whitfield family came. Jo held my hand, and when the midwife put my son in my arms, I cried so hard I couldn't see him properly.

He had a little dent in his chin. Tom had the same one.

Three days later, a card arrived at Jo's flat. A blue teddy bear on the front. Inside, in neat handwriting: Welcome to the world, Noah. With love from your Grandad Frank.

That autumn, I saw the pictures on Facebook. Elaine had posted them herself.

Tom's wedding. To Amber Cole.

Amber in a lace dress on the steps of the country club. Elaine beaming beside her. Tom smiling for the camera like a man who'd never thrown his pregnant wife out into the rain. The caption said: Finally, the daughter-in-law I always wanted.

I closed the laptop and picked up my son. He was six months old and laughing at nothing. “One day,” I whispered to him. “One day, they'll know.”

And every year on Noah's birthday, another card came from Grandad Frank.