My name is Catherine Walker, and I live in Sheffield, where autumn drapes the city in a misty veil and the pavements crunch with fallen leaves. That evening, the wind howled against the windowpanes as I stood in my kitchen, clutching a mug of tea, replaying my mother-in-law’s sharp words from my daughter’s birthday. The sting of her criticism lingered, and I found myself spiralling into regret and resentment, desperate to defend the love I’d poured into that imperfect cake.