After I escaped, it was judged too dangerous for me to return, and caring for Dad fell solely on my brother. A fortnight later we decided he needed to go into care. I would visit him with my brother, as I was too nervous to go on my own. Some days he didn't say much and lashed out if I tried to hug him, on others he smiled and seemed happy but didn't speak. My brother was livid one week after a carer shaved off Dad's facial hair in a well-meaning attempt to smarten him up

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