My family didn't know I existed

Jennifer Barton, 38, was in her thirties when she finally met her older sister

- JENNIFER BARTON

Knocking on my hotel-room door on the last morning of our holiday in Italy, my big sister, Katrin, 50, surprised me with a biker jacket made of buttery-soft leather. ‘It’s your birthday present,’ she smiled. ‘You know I can’t resistgetting my little sister gifts.’ Her smile grew wider as I put on the jacket and it fitted perfectly. It was true, she was always showering me and my four children with presents, and I pinched myself, thinking how incredible she was – especially because six years ago Katrin had no idea that I even existed.

I was born and raised in New York by a formidable mother – she'd immigrated to the US from Ukraine in the 1970s and worked as a doctor in Manhattan. She’d met my father through work, but raised me on her own, ensuring I never wanted for anything.

But there was one thing she couldn’t give me – a sibling. I desperately wanted a sister, and would often invent imaginary relatives. Truthfully, I didn’t really mind that my father wasn’t in the picture. I didn’t know much about him other than he lived in Austria. My mother did more than enough to fill the role of both parents. Despite her load, she was always front rowf very ballet performance and ked me in to wish me the rest of dreams each night.

Then, when i was 23, and studying at oxford university, she died.I was suddenly drowning in grief – my mother was my whole life. As I tried to finish my degree, I felt utterly alone.

I met my father soon after my mother’s death. It was awkward, and meeting him only cemented what I was already feeling – I had no one. Yet, he did tell me he had another son and daughter – my half-brother and sister – and that, although they didn’t know about me, he’d tell them when the time was right.