‘You know, Michel wouldn’t have liked to stay home with the kids full time either, but we never even discussed that because it clearly couldn’t be him, financially. And yet when I want to go back to work, when I need to go back to work, to have some sense of purpose in life, just as he does, I’m the one left feeling guilty.’

She shakes her head and I see the stress drawing lines on her face.

‘I would have gone back part time, but that wasn’t an option. And it’s been so hard since then, to earn back the respect I used to have. A co-worker got the promotion that should have been mine, and I’ve had to work twice as hard as anyone else to prove to my manager that I’m dedicated to this job, that I’m not going to leave the office to rescue my sick child from nursery at an important moment, or worse, become pregnant again.’

We’re quiet for a moment and I feel an unfamiliar surge of sympathy for this woman, whose life may be so different to my own but isn’t, as I’ve long assumed, so perfect after all.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry for snooping and for breaking the necklace and throwing away the package. I’ve acted terribly. It’s not like me. It’s no excuse, but I haven’t been myself because of…’

She pinches the bridge of her nose, rubs her eyes, says in a tired voice, ‘Because of what?’

And so I tell her why I came to Switzerland. About what happened to Mum and going to give blood with Dad and the subsequent DNA tests and the conversations with the hospital in Lausanne and Maggie telling me that I really needed to just go to Switzerland and figure it out for myself.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I just couldn’t. I could barely believe it myself. And it just all sounds so crazy, you would have probably turfed me out or called a psychiatrist.’

Julia looks utterly shocked. The skin on her forehead is clammy and a piece of hair is stuck to her temple. She shakes her head. ‘That’s terrible.’

I acknowledge her words with a nod. I feel lightheaded. A bit like I did that day, after donating blood. The tears come fast down my face and I don’t wipe them away. I shake with emotion but I don’t try and stop; I can’t. I just sit there, purging myself of everything I’ve held on to for so long, until I feel her hand on my shoulder. She reaches over and pulls me into a hug and I cry some more, breathing in her familiar floral scent as she holds me tight.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through.’