she’d lasted only a few months? That was surely a good sign – she would hardly have become a kingpin of the forced adoption industry in such a short period of time. I looked to Dad.
‘What did you think of all of this?’
‘It was a difficult situation,’ Dad agreed slowly. ‘But nothing in life is clear cut, Sabina. Mum just was not a good fit for that place. It was probably the most difficult period of our entire marriage, to be honest with you.’
Mum nodded, but I watched her eyes drift downwards to the table between us. She seemed drenched in sadness just reliving the time she’d spent there. Once again I found myself in the strange position of being forced to ask her questions about something which was clearly very painful for her.
‘So . . . did you know her?’ I asked softly.
Mum looked at her cup now, as if the answer to my questions could be found in the thin liquid.
‘I suppose I probably knew her,’ she whispered.
‘But there were a lot of women in the home,’ Dad added. The words were measured but he spoke far too quickly, cutting off the natural pause after Mum’s admission. ‘Mum wouldn’t have known all of them.’
‘A lot of women?’ I repeated. ‘That’s not what I read online. How many women are we talking about here? Hundreds?’
‘No, dozens,’ Mum admitted. ‘Somewhere between twenty and thirty, most probably.’
‘And you really have no idea which one she was? Did they all give birth on the same day or something?’
‘Of course not.’ Dad was impatient. ‘Look, it was always the same story. These girls were sixteen or seventeen, they got themselves pregnant, and their families dropped them at the home until the baby came.’
‘Always the same story ? Jesus, Dad, you make it sound like they were disposable baby incubators.’
‘No, God no—’ Mum said, shaking her head. ‘They were wonderful girls, they really were.’ She was pinched and pale at Dad’s careless phrasing. I waited, as I always did, for her to shoot him a glance that put him in his place, just as she’d have done with me if I ever said something so offensive. Mum did not shoot Dad those glances, though. They were reserved; for me, for my teachers, for my friends and our extended family, and even for strangers on the street . . . but never for Dad. He was, and always had been, off limits somehow. ‘Dad just meant that I really only dealt with the other side of things, Sabina . . . the actual adoptions.’
‘Well, what was it about me that made you keep me? Was I especially cute or something?’ I tried for a joke and it fell heavily flat. Dad half-smiled and shrugged at me, Mum didn’t even acknowledge my attempt at humour.
‘You were a beautiful baby . . . perfect, actually. Things just worked out; you needed a home and we needed a family.’
‘ Tell me about it, Mum. Where did the idea to keep me come from?’
‘I told you, you needed a home and we—’
‘Mum, listen to me,’ I interrupted her, but I was calm. ‘I want you to tell me about it. I need the detail . . . some context. Surely you must remember – were you walking down the corridor and you saw me in the nursery? Did someone tell you about me? Was there a memo on the noticeboard that a “perfect” new baby needed parents? You must have seen a lot of adoptions, so why did you keep me ?’
‘You would have gone to the orphanage,’ Mum said stiffly. ‘We didn’t have a family for you yet, and I was worried that if you went to the orphanage, you’d stay there. That happened sometimes and it wasn’t a good outcome for anyone.’
‘ Why wasn’t it a good outcome?’
‘No one wanted to adopt the older children. Babies who weren’t placed quickly tended to go into the orphanage and then stay there for a long time. A child needs parents and stability.’
‘So had you decided to adopt and you were just waiting for a baby to be available?’
‘No, not really,’ Mum admitted. ‘It was a little impulsive
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