On the 7th of January, I discovered that my child was the victim of a terrible crime: they had been groomed online by a paedophile. Take a moment to imagine that feeling. Picture a parent who has failed to protect their child from an infinite danger - one that creeps silently into lives, unseen, and grows like a cancer. That parent was, and will always be, me.

How do you imagine me now? From reading the paragraph above, what sort of parent have you already decided I am? Gullible? Neglectful? Too distracted with my own life to notice a crime happening to my child? Whatever your thoughts, they cannot be harsher than how I see myself. I would have had the same reaction as you, if I had the luxury of standing in your shoes.

Our house is a loving home, with a family that cares, a family that is present, no matter what. We’re not The Waltons, of course; we have our ups and downs, and I’m realistic about my children. They are not, nor should they be, perfect. Mistakes happen, but we always face and learn from them together.

Like most parents, I try to navigate the challenges of technology, social media, and the constant pull of screens. I set boundaries: no screens upstairs, phones put away by 8:30, time limits on apps, limited and monitored access to social media. These rules are not popular, and I’m often labelled the “worst parent” or the “only parent” who insists on them. Still, I stand firm, knowing I am not alone. Many of my peers hold similar values, and together we hope to foster in our teenagers a healthy, cautious approach to technology that will serve them well into adulthood.

This vigilance was shaped, in part, by a tragedy close to home. A few years ago, a boy in our area was groomed and murdered by someone he had met online. His courageous mother has since devoted herself to warning other families about the dangers of online strangers. I shared her story with my children, along with the lessons of stranger danger and the “tricky stranger” theory. At the time, I felt sure they understood.

At 14, my eldest child became a little lost. The peer pressure to identify as something, anything, seemed to unsettle them, and they began to question who they were. We talked about it. One conversation after school stopped me in my tracks: they were puzzling over a list of more than 70 different identities they could choose from: bi, gay, pansexual, even (to both their confusion and mine) “mayonnaise” or “mayogender.” I reassured them that what truly mattered was being happy, kind, and a good citizen. Then, once they were out of sight, I found myself turning to Google, trying to understand how mayonnaise had become more than a condiment.

I checked in with them regularly, doing my best to keep it casual and not add to the pressure. I believed they were finding their way through a dilemma I would never have faced at the same age. I took comfort in knowing they had friends around them who were wrestling with similar questions.

But unbeknown to me, at 15 my child reached beyond their circle of friends and went online for answers. Using a secret X (Twitter) account created through Safari, slipping past the restrictions I had put in place, they found a “friend” who claimed to be their age, who “understood,” and who “felt the same.” What began as gentle coaxing became a steady drip of reassurance, words designed to persuade my child to share their thoughts, their desires and ultimately, so much more.

On the 7th of January, our world changed.

I cannot share details of our case because the criminal investigation is ongoing. I can tell you that the police have identified the “friend” who, unsurprisingly, is a sinister figure and appears to have other victims. The police say they have enough evidence to make an arrest. And so we wait.

The images of my child that this man harvested were shared vindictively and for profit. I hope with every ounce of my being that he is arrested soon. I will have no peace until he is brought to justice. If the case goes to court, I will be there; I need to see what sort of man could do this to a child. It is likely the case will not be heard until my child is 18 and if so, they will still be treated as a child and afforded the protections they deserve.

In the meantime I live in a shadowland. I search for this perpetrator online. Lately I believe he has been trying to contact my child again, so I keep a close watch. In my darkest moments I scour Google, racked with the fear that the images will surface and seal a lifelong legacy for my child. I keep all of this inside; my child knows nothing of my silent vigil.

My child is the only silver lining in all of this. They have learned a brutally hard lesson and have shown a resilience that takes my breath away. They are receiving counselling and support from their incredible school, and the police have been extraordinary in their dedication and focus.

My desire in sharing this is to bring you into my vigil:

• To remind you that this can happen to anyone, at any time. If it happens to someone you know, offer kindness - judgment and prejudice only add another burden for the victim to carry.
• Don’t assume your child won’t search for the unthinkable online, no matter how many restrictions you set.
• Notice secretive behaviour around screens - it may be telling you more than words ever could.
• Remember that even if you’ve taught your child about the dangers of meeting people online, they may still be persuaded otherwise. The words “but he is my friend still, isn’t he?”, after we discovered who this ‘friend’ truly was, will haunt me forever.
• Step into their online world; when possible, experience what they see together.
• Keep checking in. Share stories and lessons learned, rather than lectures on the “evils” of social media.

• Understand that the online world is part of their reality. We have a duty to guide them through it, just as we teach them to tie shoelaces, cross the road, or ride a bike.

What happened to my child has changed our lives forever. Yet I share this story not for pity, but for awareness. If even one parent looks a little closer, asks one more question, or offers kindness instead of judgment, then something good may yet come from our pain.