The Mahours’ situation is the situation of all domestic violence victims writ large. And yet so scant is the sympathy and empathy for the vast majority of them (and it is estimated that one in four – a quarter, a quarter of all women – will experience abuse from a partner at some point in their lives) that refuges have to be run as charities, and the public funds they do get are always among the first to be cut.

Three quarters of women fleeing DV are currently having to be turned away from shelters. And those fleeing, it is worth emphasising, are a tiny minority of those suffering. They are the few who have either managed to get enough money, documents and support from family and friends to leave, or who have finally been put in such fear of becoming one of the two women a week murdered by their partners that the possibility of homelessness, and all the other vulnerabilities and desperations that brings, has become the better option.

And we still can’t, don’t, won’t take care of them. “But why did she stay?” the people who don’t understand ask.

The lack of funding for women’s charities and shelters stems from this apparent inability to put themselves in an abused women’s shoes and know that they are not weak or complicit but terrified and powerless. And yet, the reception of the Mahours’ story shows that this inability is indeed only apparent. It can be found if the situation – the fear, the poverty, the absolute lack of options – is made stark enough.

Lucy Mangan: “Apathy is domestic violence's biggest ally”