![f0006-01.jpg](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/7yjpqeos3kc09fmv/images/fileK17J4W1A.jpg)
![f0006-03.jpg](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/7yjpqeos3kc09fmv/images/fileU9B73JVU.jpg)
![f0007-01.jpg](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/7yjpqeos3kc09fmv/images/fileG2JC1812.jpg)
Following a trail of rose petals, it was a Valentine’s Day like never before.
‘You’ve done all of this?’ I beamed up at my boyfriend Cain, 27, as he stood holding a bouquet.
Always treating me with gifts throughout the year, Cain was everything I had ever wanted.
Meeting through mutual friends back in November 2019, when I was just 18, I’d fallen head over heels.
Charming, kind and considerate, our relationship blossomed naturally.
My parents John, now 60, and Julie, now 54, approved of Cain, too.
They looked at him like a son.
And my best friend got on well with him, too.
Which meant that everything progressed quite quickly for us.
Cain moved in with me at my parents’ house, just before lockdown started in 2020.
And everything was great.
Over the space of three years, we’d had weekends away, been to Mexico together and had even spoken about the idea of starting a family, too.
However, like all couples, we had our ups and downs.
Normally timid in character,