Not My Daughter

‘What happened before?’ Matt demands and Jack shakes his head.

‘I meant a long time ago, when Anna was eighteen, nothing to do with now…’

Eighteen? ‘What happened back then?’ I ask Anna.

She purses her lips and lifts her chin, her eyes flashing. ‘I had a termination. But that doesn’t really have anything to do with this.’

Doesn’t it? I am shocked by this news, stunned by how it changes nothing – and yet everything.

‘So you want to make up for the baby you killed by taking ours?’ Matt says with a sneer, the words so cruel they seem to steal the air from the room.

‘Matt,’ I protest. ‘That’s not fair.’ But what if it’s the truth? I feel ashamed for thinking it, and yet…

‘Milly, she’s trying to take Alice from us!’

And still I can’t blame her, as much as I want to. ‘There’s no need to be so cruel,’ I say quietly.

Anna turns to Matt, her gaze fierce and glittering. ‘And what about you, Matt? What about all the things you said, about how maybe you and Milly shouldn’t have gone down this route? Playing God?’

‘I didn’t mean for you—’

‘What about what you said, about how maybe Milly shouldn’t have been a mother?’

I gape with shock, nearly stagger. ‘What…’ I can barely get the word out. I turn to Matt, who is looking furious as well as guilty. Guilty. Because he did think that. He said it to Anna.

‘Give me my daughter,’ Matt says, his voice low and deadly. ‘Give her to me right now, and then get out of this house.’

I can hardly believe it’s come to this, that the four of us, four friends in this great adventure together, are now facing off as if we’re the worst of enemies. Anna stares at Matt, and then at me, and finally at Jack.

The seconds tick by and then at last she starts to unwind the sling, her fingers trembling as she fumbles with the ties. Her face is a mask, but behind it I sense a wild grief. This isn’t fair to Anna. I know that. But neither has she been fair to us.

Gently, so gently, she lifts Alice out. My daughter lets out a breathy sigh; she has slept through everything. Anna holds Alice for a moment, touching one finger to her cheek.

‘Anna,’ Matt says warningly, and I want to tell him to be quiet, that we need to give her this much. At the same time, I want to snatch Alice from Anna’s arms.

Then Anna finally hands Alice over, not to Matt, but to me. She looks me straight in the eye as she does it, and I see the storm of grief in her face although her expression is composed.

I take Alice, bringing her to my body as I gaze down at her sleeping face. My daughter. The words don’t completely make sense to me yet, even though I feel them desperately, for the very first time.

‘Now,’ Matt says in a cold, controlled voice, ‘you can go upstairs and pack your things, and then you can get out.’

Anna doesn’t reply as she walks past us with her head held high.

No one speaks as she moves around upstairs, packing her things. Matt is still fuming, and Jack looks lost. I gaze down at Alice, touching her cheek, her finger, her downy blonde curls. She’s changed so much from the scrawny newborn I left three weeks ago. I’m terrified to hold her, but I don’t feel that awful sense of displacement and revulsion that I felt before. She belongs in my arms now, and despite Anna, despite everything, that is the sweetest relief.

The stairs creak and Anna comes back downstairs with a suitcase in one hand, another bag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll put these in my car and then I’ll get Winnie,’ she says, and nobody answers.

She comes back in for the cat and the litter box, and still we stay silent. Part of me wants to scream, to cry, to say sorry, anything. I can’t believe that as I gain my daughter, I am losing my best friend. But I don’t say anything. No one does.

Anna pauses at the door, one hand on the knob. She looks at all of us, her chin tilted, her eyes glittering with either tears or anger. I wait – for what? For something about this to make sense? For us all to be able to take a step back, mend these broken bridges and to move on, together?

But the moment passes, and I feel it is gone forever. With a little nod of farewell, Anna opens the door and goes outside. As it clicks shut behind her, Matt releases a long, low breath and I look down at my daughter. Alice stirs, perhaps startled by the sound of the door closing, and then my daughter opens her eyes, blinking sleepily, before smiling at me.

Part Two

Twenty-Two

Anna