by Kate Hewitt
A creak sounds on the stair, and I turn to see Matt looking straight at me. I am still half-expecting him to tell me to leave, even now.
‘Alice wants you to say goodnight,’ he says, and for a moment I can’t speak.
‘Me…?’
‘Yes.’ He manages a stiff nod, a small, tense smile. ‘She asked for you especially.’
And so, I tiptoe upstairs, my heart in my mouth. I find her bedroom, the same one as when she was a baby, but now it’s a little girl’s room instead of a nursery, all pink princesses and rainbow stencils.
Alice is sitting up in bed, her hair in damp ringlets, her cheeks rosy. She looks perfect.
‘I asked Daddy if you could read me a story.’ It takes me a second to understand her, but then I nod, my heart so very full.
‘I’d like that, Alice. I’d like that very much.’
She hands me a book and I settle in next to her, both of us leaning against the pillow, my arm around her shoulders. We read an abridged version of The Velveteen Rabbit, that old, beloved classic of the rabbit who is loved into being real. My throat thickens as I read about his conversation with another well-loved but now-forgotten toy: ‘“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.”’ I take a deep breath, willing the tears that threaten to recede.
‘Go on, Anna,’ Alice says softly. ‘This is the best bit.’
And so I continue, each word a painful labour of love. ‘“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”’ Alice nods, clearly familiar with every part of this story, savouring the words. I go on. ‘“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?” “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”’
By this point I can’t keep the tears at bay, because it’s all so unbearably poignant, so tragically bittersweet, so real.
Alice smiles and reaches for my hand. ‘It’s all right,’ she says softly, and I’m amazed that she has the strength – and the grace – to comfort me, even just over a story. ‘It’s all right, because it’s good to be real.’
‘Yes, it is.’ I sniff and manage to smile. ‘You’re right, Alice. It’s very good.’
She smiles at me, and I smile back, and if I could cup this moment between my hands and hold it, I would. Oh, how I would hold on to it forever.
I manage to finish the story without shedding any more tears, and Alice’s eyelids are fluttering closed by the time I reach the last page. ‘Goodnight, Anna,’ she whispers, and my eyes sting with tears.
‘Goodnight, Alice.’ I close the book and just watch her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft, little breaths. The whole house, the whole world, is hushed and still. At peace.
Will I have another moment like this? Will Milly, or Matt? More than ever, I am aware of how little any of us can know what the future holds, what sorrows we will have to bear, what hope we will find in the most unexpected of places. And yet, in this moment, I am glad – and I am thankful, for everything, even the heartache, the grief, all of it, because it brought me here. It brought us here.
‘I love you, Alice,’ I whisper, and her eyelids flutter once more as I lean over and kiss her cheek, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo. She lets out a breathy sigh, and then, slowly, a smile on my lips, I rise and go downstairs.
Epilogue
Milly
Three years later
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‘Look at me, Mummy!’
‘I see you, darling.’ I wave and smile at my son, five years old and so very proud of swinging by himself. We adopted Toby six months ago, after a year of paperwork and planning, assessments and visits. He’s had his challenges, as any child in his position would, but he’s also been a joy, and Alice has loved having a little brother.
The last three years have held so many heartbreaks, nights where I’ve sat on the edge of the bathtub and sobbed till I felt utterly empty inside; days spent in hospital, as Alice adjusts to new limitations and medications; small, daily griefs as well as the huge gaping ones.
But we have also had so many surprising joys, the greatest being that Alice is still with us at all. At eight years old, she has no sight and limited speech, and for the last year and a half she’s needed a motorised wheelchair to get around. She’s still in school, thanks to the indomitable Miss Hamilton, who has championed her cause as the school’s Special Education Needs Coordinator and won battles for us that we didn’t even know we had to fight.
Matt and I have grieved every small loss of Alice’s, even as we’ve celebrated the major milestones. Birthdays, Christmases, writing her name, being able to swim… these have all been hard-won triumphs. There have been challenges and frustrations, far too many, and the worst is when Alice experiences them herself, thinking she is stupid, hating her failing body and mind, railing against the way things are.
But we’ve worked through them, if not past them, drawing together in the midst of the sorrow, and we’ve found support in local groups, as well as the yearly international conference for families of children with Batten disease. We’ve travelled as far as Newcastle and Swansea to meet with other families in situations similar to ours; a year ago we even went to Disney World, in Florida, with a dozen other Batten families, for the most magical week of our lives. So many good things, amidst the sad and the hard and even the impossible.
A few months after Anna came back into our lives, the cancer finally claimed my mother; she was at peace at the end, which is all anyone can ask for. Since her death, my father has come by a lot more, spending many evenings and weekends with us, sharing in our lives.
As for Anna… I don’t know what we’d do without her – and I don’t know what she’d do without us. The last three years has had us entering a deeper friendship than anyone could have imagined, least of all me. Two and a half years ago, Alice was flower girl at Anna and Will’s wedding, a highlight for all of us.
We are all a family, in the truest sense, and even Jack has become more involved, relocating back to the UK two years ago, and seeing Alice as often as he can. It’s happened just as I once said I wanted it to, and yet in a way I never would have imagined or even tried to bring about. If I’d known what lay ahead when I first got pregnant, I think I would have faltered at the first step. But here we are, and despite everything, because of everything, it is good.
‘Alice!’ Toby slows on the swing as he points to his sister, coming through the play park’s gates on her mobility scooter, Anna by her side. Every Saturday they have an ice cream date at Swoon Gelato, just the two of them. It’s the highlight of Alice’s week, and undoubtedly of Anna’s too, and I love seeing them both so happy.
Taking Toby’s hand, I turn towards them. ‘How was the gelato? What flavour did you choose?’
‘Chocolate brownie as usual for this kid,’ Anna says with a smile, touching Alice’s golden hair. ‘Why mess with a good thing?’
‘Why indeed.’ I glance at Alice, who has a smear of chocolate around her lips. She’s been on purely pureed food for a year now, and a feeding tube is surely in her future. But today, she had ice cream, and that is enough.
‘And for you?’ I ask Anna. She has been working through Swoon’s flavours for the last year, rating each one.
‘Amarena Cherry Cheesecake. I told Alice it was six out of ten.’
‘Why only six?’
‘Not enough cherri
es.’ She rests one hand on her barely-there bump for a second before bending down to give Toby a hug. ‘I saw you on the swing there, big boy.’
‘I did it by myself!’
‘Amazing.’ And it is amazing, because Toby came to us from a background of abuse and neglect, cowering at the smallest thing, unwilling to try anything new or unknown. I gave up the idea of a perfect family, a newborn I could claim as my own, a long time ago. Toby belongs to me as much as Alice. They are my children. There is no but. Looking back at my own childhood, I don’t think there ever was.
‘Matt’s barbecuing sausages,’ I say as I put one hand on Alice’s shoulder, anchoring me to her. She is warm and solid and real. She is here, and we are happy. ‘Shall we go home?’
Anna and Toby both nod, and Alice gives me the kind of grin that reminds me of when she was a baby, when she was new.
Every day is new. Every day is a miracle of grace. Together we turn for home.
If you loved Not My Daughter don’t miss Kate’s powerful, emotional page-turner The Secrets We Keep.
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Get it here!
The Secrets We Keep
Get it here!
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My whole body aches. I trawl memories of her, now so precious… my darling child. I can’t lose her…
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When Tessa arrives at the little house by the lake with her two children, it is an escape. The rental house may be a bit small – but it’s theirs for the summer. A place to hide…
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However, their isolation is disrupted by the family from the big house next door. Three children and their glamorous mother Rebecca – who seems determined to invite Tessa into their lives.
* * *
Rebecca, however, is harbouring a dark secret. And when it becomes too much for her to bear, Tessa seems to be the only person she can turn to.
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But as powerful bonds form between the two families, choices will be made that can never be undone. And as the summer comes to an end, nothing can keep everyone safe. And one family will pay the ultimate price…
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A gripping, powerful emotional page turner with a heartbreaking twist, for fans of Jodi Picoult, Emily Bleeker and Diane Chamberlain.
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Available now!
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Books by Kate Hewitt
A Mother’s Goodbye
The Secrets We Keep
Not My Daughter
This Fragile Life
When He Fell
Rainy Day Sisters
Now and Then Friends
A Mother like Mine
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Writing as Katharine Swartz:
The Vicar's Wife
The Lost Garden
The Second Bride
The Other Side of The Bridge
A Letter from Kate
Dear reader,
Thank you so much for taking the time to read Not My Daughter. I am so pleased that you did and I hope you enjoyed it.
If you did, and would like to be the first to hear about my new releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Sign-up here!
The idea for the book came to me when I was reading a newspaper article about the ethical complexities of modern fertility treatments, especially when more than two people are involved. I am fascinated by the ethics of parenthood in contemporary society, with so many scenarios occurring that we couldn’t have envisioned even a generation ago, and the struggle we all have in navigating this new and ever-changing landscape.
Yet at its heart, Not My Daughter is not so much a story about ethics, as about the hidden grace we can find in sorrow and tragedy, and how the worst of circumstances can lead to surprising joy – something I truly believe and have lived out, in a smaller way, myself.
While researching the medical background for Not My Daughter, I learned so much about Batten disease, which is truly a heart-wrenching condition. You can learn more about it through the Batten Disease Family Association, at www.bdfa-uk.org.uk. Thank you to those at the Association who answered my questions concerning diagnosis, genetics and living with the disease.
If you enjoyed Not My Daughter, I would be so grateful if you could spare a couple of minutes to write a review. You can also get in touch via my Facebook page or Twitter account, or join my Facebook group Kate’s Reads, where we discuss all sorts of books. I always am grateful to hear from readers, so please do reach out!
Thanks again for reading!
Best wishes
Kate
A Mother’s Goodbye
‘My arms ache with the need to reach and hold my precious child, and then to never let go. But I can’t. I know I can’t.’
* * *
Get it here.
* * *
Heather is devastated. There’s no way she can keep her baby. She can barely pay the bills as it is. But when she meets Grace, a wealthy, single career woman, who wants a baby more than anything, Heather believes she has found the perfect adoptive mother.
* * *
As Grace and Heather’s lives become entwined, they are tested to breaking point, though neither can deny the other’s love for the child. But just when they think they are learning how to live with each other, they receive devastating news that turns their fragile world upside down.
* * *
Will either mother know what is the right thing to do for the child they both love?
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An absolutely gripping, emotional drama with a tear-jerking twist. If you love Jodi Picoult, Kelly Rimmer or Diane Chamberlain, this will warm your heart, make you cry, and stay with you forever.
Available here!
Acknowledgements
It takes a village to raise a child, and so it took with this book! Thank you to all the lovely team at Bookouture: my wonderful editor Isobel who gave me such invaluable feedback on the first very rough draft (!) as well everyone on the staff who has helped to launch my books into the world – Peta, Kim, Noelle, Emily, Alex, Alexandra, and Ellen, to name but a few.
Thank you to the medical professionals online and in real life who patiently answered my many questions, often asked in ignorance.
Also thanks to Margery Williams, whose beloved children’s book The Velveteen Rabbit inspired part of this story.
Thank you also to my online writing friends who are always there to listen to me moan and then tell me I really can do it – the Savvies, the members of the Bookouture Author Lounge, and my dear friend Jenna.
Thank you also to my wonderful family who are so patient when I am absorbed in writing, and a special mention to my daughter Ellen, who reads my books out loud as I am writing, making me cringe – as much as I hate that habit, you definitely help make my books stronger! Love you!
Discussion Questions
Should Anna have offered to donate an egg to Milly at the beginning of the book? Why or why not?
How did Anna and Milly’s friendship change throughout the story? What were the reasons for the change?
How much of the tension between Anna and Milly was due to Milly’s pregnancy, and how much to the history of their friendship, and especially what happened when Anna was eighteen?
Did you feel Anna was justified in considering applying for custody of Alice? Why or why not? Were Matt and Milly justified in their response? How could things have been handled differently?
How did Jack’s involvement affect the rupture of Milly and Alice’s friendship? Was he justified in his concerns?
How was Milly’s relationship with her mother integral to her own view of motherhood? In what positive and negative ways did it affect her?
How
did Alice’s diagnosis change the dynamics between Anna and Milly? Why do you think that happened?
Why did Matt feel so guilty, and how did that affect his actions and attitude towards Anna?
Both Milly and Anna are able to find a certain level of peace and even joy amidst Alice’s terminal condition. Do you think that is realistic? Have you ever experienced something similar, even in a small way?
Published by Bookouture in 2019
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An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
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www.bookouture.com
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Copyright © Kate Hewitt, 2019
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