The Secret Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

the confusion was, the urge to comfort her was still stronger. I rubbed the space between her shoulder blades, staring at the floor as I tried to wrap my mind around the enormity of the disclosure. The peculiar numbness of physiological shock was settling. I was standing in a glass cage watching a hurricane rage past outside.
    Dad rose and crouched beside Mum, his arm meeting mine across her back.
    ‘Keep it together, Meg.’
    He whispered; his words flat and desperate, but I caught them anyway. In his tone I recognised the one dissonant note that I’d always been aware was sounding in the symphony of our family. Ted could have said that same sentence and sounded both sensitive and sensible, but from Dad, it sounded like a command. Dad was passionate about our family, which was a very good thing nearly all of the time . . . except for those few moments when the passion went just a little too far, and he seemed controlling and demanding.
    It jarred me. It had before, but that night, hearing Dad speak to Mum with such sharpness . . . it was almost too much – I cringed, averting my gaze to my husband, my anchor. Ted sat down on the sofa opposite us, resting his elbows on his knees, dangling his hands between his legs. He really could be very sensitive when he needed to be, but more than anything, Ted was rational. He would find a way through the mess of this to a truth that I could digest.
    ‘So, who was she?’ he asked quietly.
    No one answered him, not for a long time. The silence was ragged, then it was awkward. It hadn't occurred to me to ask, but now that the question was out there, I desperately needed it to be answered. When I finally realised that they were just ignoring him, I prompted,
    ‘Mum?’
    ‘We never knew anything about her.’
    Was she lying? Mum was avoiding my gaze again, but her guilt was palpable. She slumped when she spoke, as if the heaviness of the words was pressing her into the earth. I glanced at Ted, and he raised his eyebrows at me. He saw it too – the hallmarks of a lie.
    ‘Megan, she deserves to know everything you can tell her,’ Ted spoke softly, reasonably.
    Mum shook her head and the tears started again.
    ‘I’m really sorry Sabina, there’s nothing I can tell you. I don’t know anything else.’
    ‘Well, are there records?’ Ted said. ‘Surely there is paperwork. What about Sabina’s birth certificate?’
    There was the glimmer of hope I’d been holding my breath waiting for. I sat up straight again and turned my attention to Dad.
    ‘It lists your names.’ I felt washed in relief, too confused to note how ridiculous the notion was – as if, perhaps, they could be mistaken after all. ‘I’ve had a copy of it for years, Dad. It lists your names.’
    ‘Is it not the original?’ Ted asked softly, and I slumped again.
    ‘No, it’s the original.’ Mum shook her head. ‘I told you, it was a different time. We adopted you at birth so we were listed as your parents, and we are your parents. Sometimes back then, hospitals didn’t even bother to keep records to the contrary.’
    ‘So, I can’t find her, even if I want to?’ I was instantly grieving, feeling an acute loss for something I hadn’t even known existed until minutes earlier – something I wasn’t even sure that I wanted yet.
    ‘I doubt it very much, love,’ Dad said quietly.
    We sat for a moment, all of us lost together in the mess of it all. No one spoke, but the room was noisy anyway: the television was still on in the background. Someone had won big on the game show, and triumphant music played while rainbow balloons and streamers rained on them from above.
    I’d never been diagnosed with anxiety, but I supposed this was probably the best label for the way my fears ran out of control sometimes. When caught off guard, my mind would churn a situation over and over, until I could almost lose myself in the swirling tornado of thoughts. I’d learned, almost by accident over the years, to manage that