There's a real sadness on me this week, and I want to be honest about it. The last few days have knocked me more than I thought they would. After 27 years, I heard his name said out loud in Seanad Éireann. I thought it would feel like relief. Instead it brought everything back. I was 12 when it started. A child. And what I still can't get my head around is that people in St John Ambulance knew. They knew what he was, and they did nothing to stop him hurting us. Not when I told them in 1999. Not for years after. Nobody stood in his way. Nobody was ever held responsible. And now the Government doesn't seem to care either. The Seanad voted for a public inquiry. Every survivor has asked for one. And still, nothing. It feels like being told, all over again, that what happened to us doesn't matter. Leaving Ireland was the best decision I ever made. I couldn't heal in Dublin. Every street, every corner, every reminder kept me stuck in the same place. I had to get away to find out who I could be without it. And I found it. I built a life. I'm training to be a social worker. And now I have the most precious thing in the world, my little girl. When I look at her, I see everything I was never given as a child, safety, protection, and adults who would never look the other way. She will grow up believed. She will grow up safe. That's my promise to her. I've spent 27 years fighting for the truth. I'll keep pushing for the inquiry we deserve, because the children who came after me deserved better, and so did we. But I'm going to spend the rest of my life looking after her. To every survivor who's struggling this week, I see you. You were never the ones who should carry this. You're not on your own.