'I don't know who you are or why you've come here, ' I say, jabbing my finger at her, shaking as much as my voice. 'But you are not my daughter. You are not Abigail.' Fourteen years ago, our family holiday ended in tragedy when my darling four-year-old girl was snatched from us on the beach. Not a day goes by when I don't picture her wide brown eyes, and the freckles dusting her cheeks...