My parents threw me out at sixteen after I lost my leg. Nineteen years later they wanted a million dollars for my sister — to hide why a 24 -year-old woman may never walk again.

I was thirty-eight months into a company that was finally working. I had spent eleven years being a credit report and a police file and a case number, and I had just got to the point where nobody in a meeting knew anything about me except what I told them.

I was not going to let anybody put my leg in a newspaper again.

That was a reasonable decision. I have had four people tell me it was the right one, including my aunt, and I would defend it to anybody who asked.

It also ran for another seven years.

And a twenty-four-year-old woman filled in a form in March 2023 because she trusted a name that I had decided, in 2018, was not worth the fight.

I have not found a way round that one and I have stopped looking for it.