Rhys sits, staring into the distance and I think I begin to realise what she’s saying.

‘You would have been seven when I found out.’

Rhys swallows, his eyes glazing. Susan continues. My heart has stopped.

‘I could see when you’d been adopted, and the name of the family who took you. You were real. A boy with a name, something that was never mine to bestow. The name of your mother and father were there. Your address. It was strange, I…’

Susan breaks off. She can’t see Rhys try to blink away his sadness, but I do, and it takes every fibre of my being not to go to him, because now isn’t the time; this isn’t about me wading in to rescue anyone anymore. It’s bigger than I could ever have imagined.

As Susan begins again, her voice weakens. She’s tiring, fast. ‘I suppose in some way, as much as the information I learned gave you life, it pushed you further away from me. The pain it caused, well, it’s not something I could ever have foreseen.’ Susan wipes away a stray tear. James watches, not moving. Rhys continues staring at the ground and I feel like I can’t breathe. Or move. Or speak. As if by doing so, I’d break them all.

‘I remember the first time I saw you,’ she says. ‘As a grown man. I was on my way into work – on the bus because my car was in for a service.’

Rhys has gone sheet white. The room feels cold, despite the warm temperature.

‘You were in your van. You pulled up to the traffic lights beside the bus. The window above me was open and I could hear your music, it was so loud.’ Her voice is pained. How would it feel to recall a memory like this? ‘You were singing at the top of your voice and from the second I laid eyes on you, I couldn’t believe it, I just…’ Rhys looks up. ‘It was different. You were different. And then I saw the name on your van. Woods Brothers. Below it, your name and contact details. My hands shook as I scribbled your number. I was terrified you’d be gone before I could take it all down. I got up as the bus started moving, walking down the aisle to try to keep up with you until you’d gone, out of sight, turning left down Abbey Lane.’ She pauses and I still can’t breathe. The room falls silent until she eventually says, ‘I knew you were my son. I had no doubt.’

My mouth falls open, my eyes sting.

‘I kept your number in my bag for weeks before finding the courage to actually speak to you,’ she finishes, quietly.

Her smile has faded. Rhys isn’t moving and James seems transfixed by her. Perhaps I should have left them to do this alone. I’m in the middle of a story that doesn’t feel like mine. An intruder in their truth.