Listen. I’ve got an interesting story. It’s about me.
Where do I start?
OK, I know. My birthday. My twelfth birthday. My mother and father want to talk to me.
My mum and dad smile a lot. They’re happy people. But they aren’t smiling today.
‘We love you, Helen,’ Mum tells me.
‘Yes,’ Dad says. ‘We love you very much.’
‘But, Helen…we must tell you something,’ Mum says. I look at Mum. I don’t understand.
‘What?’ I say.
Dad holds my hand. He looks into my eyes.
‘We love you, Helen. You’re our daughter. But… you’re our adoptive daughter.’
There is a noise in my ears. Someone’s shouting. It’s me.
‘Please, Helen,’ Mum says.
Dad takes something from the table and gives it to me.
‘Please. Read this,’ he says.
‘I’m driving the taxi when I hear something. Something in the taxi. I stop to look. And I see you.’
He smiles. ‘You’re crying and you’re angry. But you’re very beautiful too. Just one look, Helen. One look and I love you.’
I look at them.
‘But who am I?’ I ask. ‘Who are my…’
‘Your birth parents?’ Dad says sadly. ‘We don’t know. No one knows.’
He gives me something. ‘This is yours, Helen,’ he says. ‘I think it comes from…them.’
I look at it. ‘From my birth parents?’ I ask.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘A baby blanket,’ he tells me.
Mum takes my hand now. ‘Please don’t be sad,’
she says. ‘We love you, Helen. We aren’t your birth parents, but that doesn’t change anything.’
But she’s wrong.