About the truth Mum doesn’t know.

‘Rhys?’ she reaches out to me.

‘Did you ever try to find out about her?’ I ask, dropping down onto a bench beside us, eyes dead ahead.

Mum sits and fidgets beside me. ‘No,’ she eventually answers, her voice quiet. Is she embarrassed? I nod, slowly, and it’s not long until she feels compelled to expand. ‘I didn’t want to know anything. I didn’t want to find information that led me to assume anything. I didn’t want to judge. I wanted to nurture you. I wanted to make decisions in the best interests of my child. I didn’t want to find I’d second-guessed those decisions on the basis that I had your backstory. It was a long time ago, Rhys. I thought I was doing the right thing.’I take in her words, mulling them over. I’m not sure I get it. Why wouldn’t she want to know everything about me? Every last detail about her son.

‘Your Dad, he wasn’t interested either. Encouraged me to leave it.’ She laughs to herself, a low, cynical laugh. ‘That was enough to vindicate me.’Do I tell her this answer seems weak? The choice of a coward. A word I never thought I’d use for Mum. How would she feel if she knew I was disappointed in her? Is it even fair that I feel that way? What do I know of the position she was in back then? What do I know about anything?

Except I know what she never bothered to find out.

‘I thought, maybe one day, you could find out about it for yourself. If you ever needed to, or wanted to. And I support that one hundred per cent. I can see now it might have helped, and God, Rhys, I am so sorry if my choice was wrong. I truly am.’ She reaches out to squeeze my knee. ‘I will help you in any way I can, if you want to find her.’

I fold my arms. ‘It looks like we’ll never find her.’ I’ve said it before I can stop myself.

‘What?’