My family didn’t know I existed

‘I didn’t know much about my father’

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 resist getting 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