“I never thought this would happen to Reese, but you have to get it through to people that it can happen to anyone.” Grief and sadness envelops Wendy Chisholm as we talk in her snow-dusted suburban house in the hills above Vancouver. She is telling me about her “lovely, easy-going, thoughtful” teenage daughter, whose face beams out from a photo on the fridge in the kitchen. She takes me upstairs to show me the sports-mad girl’s room. It is filled with trophies, pictures of Reese in her soccer kit and with a black belt from taekwondo, her name picked out in yellow thread.
