I'm the child OF AN AFFAIR

Jennifer Barton still feels like a dirty secret at 42

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My relationship with my big sister is one of the great joys of my life. We share a love of running, yoga and literature. We are both thoughtful, caring and have a tendency to get lost when navigating public transport. But our love comes wrapped in pain through no fault of our own.

We studiously avoid certain topics of conversation. And I catch her slipping into another room and shutting the door if her mother calls when we're together. I'm one of those whisper it - 'children of an affair', a lasting reminder that sometimes a 'mistake' can become a lifelong legacy.

My sister was 12 when I was born and her mother was and still is - married to our father. For over 30 years, he kept them in the dark about my very existence.

My sister and I connected only a decade ago when I was 32; my mum had died nine years before. My sister couldn't have been more welcoming but, however close we've become, there's something that can't be denied. All these years later, I still feel like a dirty secret. And it still hurts. Although I'm now a 42-year-old, happily married mother of four, I still feel like the 'other' child. The one that doesn't get to be in family photos, isn't invited to family parties or reunions. Our love is like scar tissue, the wound caused by my father's betrayal always close to the surface.

Growing up

I now live in London, but I grew up in 1980s Manhattan. I was a rarity for the time: an only child of a single immigrant mother from Ukraine. I was lucky my mother loved me with the fervour of an entire village. And, during my early years, I didn't really consider or care about who my own father might be.

But I did want to fit in, so sometimes I made one up. Then I'd forget his 'name' and get caught out. I remember one child saying, 'My mum says you're a liar! You don't have a dad and you can't come over for a play date because your mum might try to steal my dad.'