Not My Daughter

‘I don’t need closure,’ Matt said shortly. ‘It’s already closed.’

‘Still, considering what a long-standing friendship it was…’

‘No.’

The therapist didn’t bring it up again. And the few times I did, Matt was adamant. We’d trusted Anna. We’d trusted her with our child, the most important thing in our lives, and she had betrayed us utterly. For him, affable, easy-going Matt, there was no going back. It was a surprising insight into his character that I had never seen before, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

But, I admit, it was easier for me to go along with him. I was afraid to see Anna again, to deal with all that hurt and guilt and mess. I already had enough to be dealing with. And so the months, and then the years, slipped by, and soon enough it all felt too late… and that felt okay.

When Alice was six months old, Jack went back to France. I think that was, in its own way, a relief. He’d tried to stay involved at first, playing with Alice, having a beer with Matt, but it had all been tinged with awkwardness and tension, which may or may not have been wrapped up in Anna’s absence or Alice’s parentage or perhaps was just a result of the relationship he and Matt had had over the years – not estranged, but not close either, just like the rest of his family. Matt’s parents didn’t visit us until Alice was three months old, and that seemed normal to them.

With Jack and Anna essentially out of our lives, something in me breathed easier, and I think it did in Matt, as well. What that says about us, I don’t know and don’t like to think about. We hadn’t told anyone else, except for my parents, about the donation, and I thought now we never would. That, in its own way, felt like some sort of betrayal, although of whom exactly I couldn’t say, but in any case I just pushed it aside. We needed to focus on the future now. On Alice. And we’d tell her the truth of her parentage when she was old enough to understand it. When that would be, I didn’t need to think about yet.

Still, I think of Anna often, and I think of her now as I chop an onion and my eyes stream. Did she get another job in Human Resources? Is she with someone? Does she think of Alice?

‘Mummy, can you fix this?’ Alice holds up one of the little figurines whose arm has snapped off.

‘I’ll try, honey.’

I root around in our junk drawer for some craft glue while Alice waits patiently, her sea-green eyes so trusting. She looks like a miniature Anna, from her wavy blonde hair to those beautiful eyes, and of course the dimples. I remember how I joked about Anna’s gorgeous genes to Matt, and inwardly I cringe. I could do without the constant reminder, but of course I’d never change anything about Alice at all.

‘You’ll have to leave it for a bit,’ I say after I’ve managed to glue the tiny arm back on. It looks wonky, but hopefully it will stick. ‘The glue needs to dry.’

‘All right, Mummy.’ Alice gives me an easy smile before turning back to her toys. I don’t know if I am imagining that she has Anna’s plac

id, passive nature as well as her looks – is that kind of thing determined by DNA, or developed through nurture? I suppose I’ll never know, and I really should stop thinking about it. In the end, it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered, if everything hadn’t gone so disastrously wrong, and that’s my fault for being ill in the first place. If I hadn’t been… if I’d been able to take care of Alice right away…

Of course, it’s impossible to say, but I think things would have turned out so differently.

Matt comes home an hour later, dropping his briefcase by the door and then crouching down as Alice runs to him, tripping over the hall runner and half-flying, half-stumbling into his arms.

‘Whoa there, gorgeous.’ He scoops her up in an easy armful as he glances at me. ‘Good day?’

‘Yes, a very good day. We went to the park.’ A beef and pasta casserole is in the oven, and I reach into the fridge to get a beer for Matt. I’ve become the classic little housewife, but I don’t care about stereotypes, I just want to be happy.

‘And how was preschool?’ Matt asks Alice as he tugs on one of her plaits.

‘Good.’ She snuggles against him. ‘But Mummy said I need to get my eyes tested again.’

Matt frowns over the top of her head. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ I shrug as I put the beer on the counter and then go to check on the broccoli. ‘They had vision tests at school, and I got a notice today saying she needs a second test.’

‘Why?’

Like me, Matt is protective of Alice, perhaps a little too much. But it’s an understandable response, considering everything we’ve been through, and it surely can’t hurt.

‘She doesn’t have 20/20 vision, I suppose,’ I say lightly, conscious that Alice is listening to every word we say, and not wanting her to feel somehow deficient. ‘It’s not a big deal.’ I choose not to let it be.

But Matt returns to it after Alice is in bed, when we’re tucked up on the sofa with the latest offering from Netflix on the screen paused in front of us.

‘So do you think she’ll need glasses?’

‘Maybe. We always knew being premature would affect her in different ways.’

‘You think this is about being premature?’

‘I don’t know.’ I glance at Matt, trying to lighten the mood. ‘But surely there are worse things than needing glasses?’