The evening of September 9 had started like any other.
My husband, Paul, had just come home from his volunteer work at the local prison; he’d said hi to our two kids before joining me in the kitchen, where I was making a cup of tea with my back to him.
His voice sounded just the same as always after a long day, but when I turned around and saw his face, I realised something was seriously wrong. His right side had drooped, and although he was only 45, I knew instantly he was having a stroke.
Since that night, our lives have never been the same.
Not only was Paul’s health affected, but we also found ourselves in nearly £60,000 worth of debt with seemingly…
