Free The Secret Daughter by Kelly Rimmer

brat?’
    ‘You know life isn’t black and white like that. It was a complicated situation and we found an outcome that worked for everyone. For you and for us.’ Dad was becoming increasingly impatient. He was tapping his forefinger against his thigh, and his foot against the floor. He had no sense of rhythm at all and the fact that he couldn’t even manage to tap nervously in time was suddenly incredibly irritating. I glared back at him. The tension in the room was mounting very quickly now, almost beyond what I could bear.
    ‘But what about her , Dad? What about my . . .’ I stopped. The words birth mother were on my lips, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them. Mum tensed, and I knew she was thinking the words too. She didn’t want me to call this other woman mother, and I didn’t want to assign that term to someone other than Mum, but there was no other way to say it. I tried desperately to find other words, any other terms. I resolutely promised myself that I would go home and Google search the language of adoption, to somehow arm myself with the vocabulary of this horrible new world. But for now, this other woman, the invisible party in the room, deserved a name and she deserved to be acknowledged. And maybe Mum had hurt her, and maybe – just maybe – my Mum deserved to be hurt anyway. I stiffened my back and I fixed my gaze on her, focusing past the plea in her eyes. ‘You say you found an outcome that worked for everyone. But what about my birth mother? What became of her?’
    ‘We just don’t know, Sabina.’ Mum was defeated again, just like she’d been at my house. She pushed a lock of hair back from her face and sat the teacup on the table opposite mine, her hands trembling. ‘I wish I could take you back there, so that you’d understand what it was like. But I can’t. You just have to trust me that we really had no choice.’
    ‘ Trust you? No choice ?’ I couldn’t hide my incredulity. ‘ She’s the one who had no choice , Mum!’
    ‘Sabina, it was 1973,’ Dad was outright snapping at me now, unable to hide his irritation at my questions. ‘Doctors smoked in the hospital for God’s sake. The single mother’s pension seemed like a pipedream, especially out there in the country. Suppose she had taken you home with her, what then? No one would have employed her, or given her housing. The stigma attached to being an unwed mother would have ruined her life. Society offered those girls no positive alternative. This was for the best .’
    I was still staring at Mum. She had been the one in the system. If anyone had answers, it would be her.
    ‘And you, Mum?’ I murmured.
    ‘And me, what?’ She was on guard, and she glanced to Dad. Was there some magic question they didn’t want me to ask, something I could say that would bring the house of cards crashing down? Why were they so on edge?
    ‘Did you offer her a positive alternative ?’
    ‘That wasn’t my job, Sabina.’
    ‘What was your job?’
    ‘I told you, I found families for the babies.’
    ‘So you played no part in forcing these young women to give their children up?’
    ‘Why would you think that I did?’
    ‘Because I know how to read, Mum. This is all over the news and the internet, and every article I see mentions social workers.’
    Mum lifted the tea cup to her mouth. She took a slow, civilised sip, swallowed it, then lowered her cup again. I saw her lips twitch, as if the words were right there , like they were for me sometimes, but she just couldn’t form them. Then I saw the tears well, and trickle down her cheeks, and she met my gaze again.
    ‘Sometimes . . . helping that decision along was a part of my job.’
    The admission landed heavily. My throat felt tight. We stared, neither one of us willing to look away. I felt that if I let myself break the eye contact I’d never stand to look at her again.
    ‘That’s enough, Sabina,’ Dad said, and he rose, as if he was going to escort me to the door. I saw him