In memory of Jean and Bob Taylor,

       the best parents anyone could have had.

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

       Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

      ‘DR KHAPUR WILL see you now, Mrs Adams.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      Mia Adams stood up and followed the receptionist along the corridor. It had been almost six years since she’d last visited the fertility clinic. Although she had intended to come back after Harry was born, to thank everyone, somehow she had never got round to it. The journey into central London from Kent had seemed too daunting with a baby in tow, plus there’d been Chris to consider.

      Although Chris had coped remarkably well with the problems of living his life as a paraplegic, there had been times when he had needed that extra bit of care and attention. Consequently, the months had slipped past before she had realised it. It was doubtful if she would ever have come back, in fact, if she hadn’t received that letter.

      Mia frowned, wondering once again why Dr Khapur had contacted her. Harry was five now and she couldn’t understand why the consultant wanted to see her. It wasn’t as if she was hoping to have another child; Chris’s death two years ago had ruled out that possibility. So what did Dr Khapur want? Had something happened? Something to do with Harry?

      Mia’s stomach lurched at the thought. It was an effort to appear composed as the receptionist ushered her into an elegantly appointed office. Dr Khapur rose from his seat, smiling warmly as he came around the desk.

      ‘Mrs Adams! Thank you so much for coming. Please…take a seat, my dear.’

      The elderly doctor guided her towards a group of comfortable chairs near the window and Mia felt her unease intensify. Whenever she had visited the clinic in the past, she had sat at one side of that huge mahogany desk and Dr Khapur had sat at the other. Maybe it was silly but this new approach made her feel more nervous than ever so that her hands were shaking as she placed her bag on the floor.

      ‘Did you have a good journey?’ Dr Khapur asked solicitously as he sat down. He smiled at her but Mia detected a certain strain about his expression that heightened her feeling that something wasn’t right. It was an effort to reply calmly when her nerves seemed to be stretched to breaking point.

      ‘Fine, thank you, Doctor. Chris and I moved to London a few years ago, so I didn’t have as far to travel.’

      ‘Ah, I see. Good. Good.’

      He rubbed his hands together and Mia had the distinct impression that he was finding it difficult to decide how to continue. She leant forward, knowing that she had to get to the bottom of what was going on. If something was wrong, and if it had anything to do with Harry, she needed to know what it was.

      ‘Dr Khapur, I… .’

      She got no further when the door suddenly opened. Mia looked round in surprise, frowning when she saw the tall, dark-haired man who had entered