My Life as a Test Tube Baby
Decades of hidden truths, setbacks, and one huge discovery
I was a little tipsy on an empty train heading back into London, my ribs aching from laughing harder than I had in years.
It was the first day of 2018, less than two months since I’d found out I had a half-sister. It was my third time meeting her, and it would be another month before I told her I loved her. And another five before she said she loved me.
I had been imagining this scenario for almost a decade and a half, ever since my parents told me it was likely my dad wasn’t actually my dad. I was 13 when they sat me down, facing me across a small kitchen table that felt like it spanned miles. They floundered with phrases like, “It doesn’t mean he loves you any less,” without explicitly getting to the point.
“So,” I remember asking with fear and childish impatience, “Dad’s not my dad?”
“He is,” Mum replied. And for a second my heart fluttered with hope. “But probably not in that way.’’
I felt as if the room was disintegrating around me. Her words hung in the air as I tried to make sense of the nonsensical. I sat mostly in silence. Mum did most of the talking. It was only the second time I’d ever seen my dad cry.
