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The Daily Mail recently told the heart-rending stories of five mothers, which were reproduced on Adoption-net, who each gave a child up for adoption and are happy to report that one of the birth-mums featured has now been re-united with the daughter she gave up 28-years ago as a six-month-old baby.

Here, they tell their stories starting with the adopted child, and continuing tomorrow with the birth mother...
by Angela Carless

The Adopted Child

Tina Mullins, 28, works in a restaurant, and is married to Ian, 21, a security officer. They live in a maisonette in the picturesque village of Goring, Berkshire and have a one-year-old son, Jake. Tina also has a seven-year-old son, Callum, from a previous relationship.

It's strange to think that for most of my life I've lived just 15 miles from my natural mum. I could easily have passed her in the streets of Reading, the county town where we both shop, work and socialise.

I could have sat next to her at the cinema. Maybe served her in the restaurant where I work. I'd never have known and yet I've spent my life searching the faces of strangers. Anyone who looked a bit like me would get me wondering. 'Are you my real mum?' I'd think, as I scanned their faces for clues.

Recently however, as I studied the face of Anne Butler in a national newspaper, I was in no doubt. She was speaking about the pain of giving up a child for adoption and an old photograph showed her tenderly holding a small baby and my heart leapt into my mouth. It was me!

My husband Ian, tipped off by my adoptive mum Trudy, had sat me down and gently urged me to read the article on adoption. I knew instinctively I was looking at my birth-mum. She looked like me when I was holding my first child and I was overwhelmed.

I've always been curious about what she looked at. I've wondered endlessly why she gave me up and if she ever thought of me on my birthday, just like I would think of her. But while I've always wanted to know about Anne, I've been reluctant to trace her. Mainly because I love my adoptive family and didn't want to risk hurting them.

Also because I feared rejection. I thought Anne must have moved on with her life since giving me and my older half-sister Katrina up for adoption. I may have been a secret. If I suddenly appeared, I could have caused a rift between her and her new family. I dreaded hearing her say: 'Go away, I don't want you! I gave you up 28 years ago, that was my decision then, it still is now.'

Reading Anne's story made me realise that she was curious about me too. That she did care about me and felt she had little choice about giving me up. Yet I still wasn't sure about meeting her. Like Anne, I too have been through emotional trauma. My feelings about being adopted and about motherhood, have often caused me anguish.

Yet I've always known I was adopted. From the time I was a small child, my adoptive parents had told me the story of the day I came into their lives when I was six-month-old baby.

There I was, dressed in pink, lying in the carrycot Anne had placed me in the day she handed me to the Social Services in the Spring of 1974.

I had this cute kiss-curl on my forehead and when my new dad picked me up, I gave him a big smile, revealing two little teeth. It was love at first sight as David and Trudy Harris welcomed me into their family.

Trudy, now 55, was a part-time dental nurse, David, 60, was an engineer for Rolls Royce and Bentley cars and had his own business. They already had a six-year-old daughter of their own, Tracy, now 34, and a second daughter, Sarah, had died of a lung infection aged two-and-a-half.

Doctors warned that Sarah's fatal illness may have been genetic and rather than risk having another child, they'd decided to adopt. Because I'd had an older sister before, Anne specifically wanted me to go to a family who had another daughter.

But that's about as much as my parents could tell me. There were adoption papers listing Anne's name and the name of my birth-father - David Butler. There was a letter written by Anne about my feeding habits and a little bear she sent with me which I called 'Adopted Bear.' But there was nothing which told me why she did not keep me.

As a young girl this could really get to me and from the age of seven until 12, I had many emotional problems. I behaved badly at school, I rebelled at home and I raged against my birth-mother. I was angry with her. Why did she give me away? Why could she not have tried harder to keep me? She should not have been so weak. I felt I hated her.

There were times when I thought I hated my adoptive mum too. During rows I'd yell: "You are not my real mum!" She ignored my cutting words, but I know I upset her and there really was no need. My parents always said if I wanted to find Anne, that was fine by them. But I didn't want to. Though I didn't get on with Mum and Dad all the time, deep down I did love them and I know they loved me.

They were decent, hard-working people and I grew up in the lovely detached bungalow in Goring where they still live. What fun my sister Tracy and I would have on family holidays to Wales. Our father loved to take us to old castles and we'd climb onto the battlements with him, while Mum stayed at the bottom because she hated heights. We'd wave at her, laughing, while dad taught us about history.

Looking back, it was an idyllic childhood. I could not have wished for better parents. Yet I was still the rebel at school and I resented any rules my parents tried to impose when I hit my teens. I thought they were over-protective because they wouldn't let me stay out all night with my friends. "Is it because I'm adopted and you'll feel bad if something happens to me?" I'd accuse them furiously.

I felt stifled and was glad to leave school at 16 with a handful of GCSEs. Though I dreamed of becoming an actress, I ended up working in the kitchens of a pub and at 17 I met Adrian, my first boyfriend. He was a year older than me and though it wasn't a great relationship, after three on-off years together, I decided I wanted a baby. I hoped we could become a cosy, family unit, just the three of us.

I stopped taking the Pill and at 20, I fell pregnant. I hoped Adrian, who had a variety of casual jobs, would take on the responsibility of a baby, but he was not as interested as I'd hoped. He was not mature enough to be a father and all my friends told me I wasn't ready to be a mother either. Suddenly, the idea of having a child seemed very scary and so at eight weeks, I had an abortion.

I thought I could forget about it afterwards, but I plunged into an emotional turmoil. I immediately regretted the abortion and was angry with Mum for giving me the money for a swift private termination. I felt it was her fault because she'd paid for it, even though it had been my decision alone. I saw only one way out of my misery. Namely, I'd got rid of one baby and I wanted another one to make up for it.

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