Killed for kindness

Stepping into my house, I flicked off my shoes.

Took in the smell of pizza, the sound of chatter coming from the kitchen.

‘Hungry, Mum?’ my son Ty'relle, 20, asked, lifting a pizza from the oven, ready to slice for his friends.

‘No, I'm fine,’ I smiled, grabbing a glass of water and leaving them to it.

Minutes later, I heard a tap on my bedroom door.

‘Sure I can't get you anything?’ Ty'relle asked.

‘Just a hug,’ I told him. He beamed, threw his arms around me.

I suffered from type one diabetes and Ty'relle worried about me.

As I