Curling up on my mother’s lap with a book, her fingers combed through my hair. I was seven and exceptionally close to Mum. We were so alike, we both loved reading and enjoyed art and we even looked the same, with our dark hair. Nobody would suspect that I didn’t really belong to her.
I was just six weeks old when my mum Bronwen and dad Kenneth adopted me in March 1970. They’d had fertility problems and I was joining an older sister who they’d also adopted, although wasn’t biologically linked to me. Then, when I was three, a new fertility treatment became available that worked for them, and my youngest sister
