Set Me Free Read Free Page B

tears.
    â€œMargherita, what’s wrong?” Ash said, taking hold of my hand again.
    â€œIt’s the hormones, I’m a bit emotional.” Which was true. Honestly, pregnancy books could not warn you enough about how weepy you could get. I was moved to tears by just about everything.
    But what was making me cry then wasn’t the turbulent hormones, it was relief . Relief and joy, because for the first time my husband had shown something that wasn’t regret and annoyance towards our baby. And he knew that. He knew why I was in tears.
    â€œMargherita . . .” he began.
    For a moment, I was afraid. Was he going to say something terrible again? Had I misunderstood his joy at seeing the baby on the scan? I held my breath.
    â€œI just wanted to say . . . I’m sorry. For the way I reacted when you told me about this baby. To see her on the screen . . .” Her? I thought. What if it was a he? “I don’t know. It just felt . . . right. I’ve been an idiot. I’m sorry.”
    For a while Ash was more attentive, and miraculously less busy, which was a first since I’d known him. He was home more, and he began to actually talk about the baby, to acknowledge its presence. We discussed little things, like what colour we’d paint the nursery, or if we should buy a cot or a Moses basket, what would be more comfortable for her. I noticed that he was always calling the baby she , and although there was a little pinprick of fear there – would he be disappointed if it was a boy? – I thought it was sweet. I didn’t mind the gender and, unlike Ash, I didn’t even have hunches. I just wanted the baby to be here, healthy and happy.
    By the end of the third month, the sickness hadn’t gone away at all and I was constantly exhausted. It was wonderful to be able to lean on Ash and not experience it by myself. I think it was the first time since we got together that I had been so dependent on him – me, usually so self-sufficient. Too independent at times, I suppose.
    Meanwhile, Lara was going through a difficult time. Being eleven is hard enough – on the brink of a new era, and a tumultuous one – but with Lara’s background, it was even harder. As my bump grew, she grew quiet, anxious. She followed me around everywhere like a puppy scared of being abandoned. On top of all her fears and worries, now she was afraid I’d love this baby more because it was ‘mine’. She never said as much, but I knew. I could feel it in the words unspoken between us, in the way she looked at me when she thought I couldn’t see her. That could never happen, of course – I would love the new baby just as much as I did her, but to love anyone more than I loved my Lara? That was impossible.
    When she came into our world, Lara was withdrawn, full of grief for her earlier experiences. But she was brimming with strength and courage as well, a little fighter and a lover of life. I fell under her spell, this little creature who had changed many homes already, who was desperately looking for something to hang on to, something safe that would not change and sift through her fingers. I, for my part, was looking for someone to shower with all the love I had inside me and had nowhere to go.
    Her real name was Laura, like my baby sister, but she asked to be called Lara, and she was so convinced, so forceful about it – as if she were renaming herself – that we went with it. Our social worker, Kirsty, wasn’t keen on the name change and I could see why: so much of our sense of self is woven into the name we are given at birth.
    â€œUnless there are safety issues, we prefer it if the adopted parents don’t change the child’s name. It can cause further trauma and loss of identity,” she said. Kirsty had been a real ally in our quest for a child, at our side every step of the way, even if her workload was impossible