It has taken me several months to write back to you because I didn’t want to give you a knee-jerk reaction. I am a writer, you know that, and I don’t like to write without thought. But my God, the thoughts have come tumbling out these last months. I have felt shock, rage, heartache, pity, more rage. I can’t understand what you did. But my conclusion now, after all these months of knowing this secret you told me, is that it’s done, and the main thing now is to deal with it in the best way we possibly can.

I want to tell you something. When we first met, all those years ago, I saw how differently we viewed our pregnancies. I saw how full of hope and love you were. But I didn’t feel like that. I was scared I’d ruined my life, that I might resent my baby, that I wouldn’t love her. But, as we both know, motherhood is a funny thing. Whatever fears and worries you may have, there’s always love. It settles upon you the day your child is born and I can’t imagine it would ever disappear, whatever happens in our lives.

When you told me what you’d done, one of the many thoughts running through my head was that my biological child had grown up without that intrinsic mother’s love. But I’ve read and reread your letter and I know you love her – the girl you named Hedi – because I feel it in your words. I’m glad she is well, and happy, and loved. My heart breaks that I haven’t known her. You’ve taken that away from me, Anna, and you can’t ever know how sad I am. Or perhaps you can, because you’ve done the same to yourself, haven’t you? And perhaps that’s worse, if that’s at all possible, to have been the instigator of your own pain. I don’t know yet if I can say I forgive you; perhaps that will come in time. I promise I will try.

I want to ask something of you that you must agree to. I hope you’ll think this is the least you can do for me: never look for Jessica. When you made that decision in the hospital, you made her mine. Mine she has always been and mine she will always remain. I have never felt such love as the love I feel for my daughter, and I will never give her up, or share her with the person who did. I believe it is best for both girls if neither of them ever knows what you did. So I will never try to meet Hedi – for her sake, for Jessica’s sake. And if either of them finds out one day, for whatever reason, then we will deal with that together, as best we can.

I’m sorry for you, Anna. I have never forgotten the lost look on your face at the hospital, nor the things you told me about your childhood. I don’t believe that excuses what you did, but it does go some way to explain it. You had no right to act as you did. But the fact remains that I can’t be sorry for it, because if you hadn’t made that awful decision, I wouldn’t have Jessica.

I wish you luck, love and good health, Anna. I wish everything in the world for Hedi. I will always think of her. I will always be willing her to succeed, to be healthy and happy. But I don’t want to hear any more. This is the end of it. Our lives touched briefly all those years ago in Switzerland and were altered forever. It’s madness to think about it. But it’s done, so we will leave it there.

Love your daughter, as I love mine. Be well, be happy.

Yours,

Sylvia