I stare at her. “Are you serious?” My voice is spiralling higher. “You didn’t follow my case at all? You just gave me away and washed your hands of me?!”
“What are you talking a—”
“I nevergotadopted,” I bite out. “I never had a family. And now I never will.”
She swallows, looking down at the drive. “Oh.”
I shake my head. Tears sting my eyes. “I didn’t come here for money. Or totear apart your family.I came here, because I just got back from the doctor’s. He… he said I can’t have kids.”
Sarah’s lips part.“Oh.”
I take a deep breath. “They say it’s genetic.”
She nods jerkily. “I—yeah. It runs in the family. Oh, God.”
There’s another childlike yell from the garden. “I bet I can beat you!” A little girl shouts, her voice carrying on the wind. “Ready, steady, go!”
My throat squeezes. “You have kids?”
Shame colours her cheeks. “I knew it might happen, so mum told me to freeze my eggs.”
I nod slowly. My jaw is clenched tight. My hands are curled into fists. I take a deep breath through my nose. “You couldn’t send me an email?” I ask. “It didn’t cross your mind that maybe you should tell yourbiologicaldaughterabout yourgeneticcondition?”
She won’t meet my gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me? Do you hate me that much? I get that you don’t want me anymore, but you’ve just taken away my ability to havekids,for God’s sake. You’ve taken away any chance of meeverhaving a family.Why?”
She looks me dead in the eye. Her face is very pale. “Because I forgot.”
I look down, tears rolling down my face. Sheforgot.
Through all of the doctor’s visits, and the hormone therapy, and freezing her eggs, she never once thought of me. Through IVF, and going through labour, and giving birth, and holding her newborn babies—her first pregnancy never once crossed her mind.
It seems impossible. How is that possible? Am I that insignificant? Do I matter that little?
Sarah starts to sob quietly, her slim shoulders shaking. I feel like I’m about to collapse into pieces.
Before I can think of what to say next, there’s a rattle at the front door. We both jump as it cracks open, and a very familiar voice echoes down the drive.
“Sarah, love, can you come and help set the table?”
A shiver rolls down my spine. Sarah wipes her eyes. “Mum,” she sobs. “She won’t go. She came back, and she won’t go.”
“What? Who won’t go? Are youcrying?” My grandmother steps out onto the driveway, and my mouth goes dry.
Sixty-One
Beth
I haven’t seen Nonna since I was four years old, but I still remember her face. Hell, how could I forget? For a few years, she was essentially my mother. When I was in the care home, I wished on every birthday candle I blew out that she’d come to pick me up and take me back home.
“Hey, Nonna.” I say bitterly. Her face screws up as if she’s swallowed a lemon wedge.
“Bethany.” She glances down at her daughter and sighs. “Come to ask for a cheque, I suppose. What is it? Tuition fees? Low on your rent?”
I sputter. “I don’t want yourfucking money!”
“I’m sure.” There’s another squeal from the garden, and the sound of a man’s laughter.