‘The only thing I could see through my blurry-vision was the love of my life being reeled in on a stretcher-bed. They were shouting about keeping her alive but my eyes caught the sight of a small flicker of movement where he chest rose and fell; she was alive.’ What would you do if a doctor told you there was a slim chance, a percentage out of a hundred, that the love of your life wouldn’t remember you? And how hard would it be to keep your silence about their existence now that you’re falling apart on national television?