As I marvelled at her high cheekbones and his drooping eyes, I couldn’t stop staring at the picture. These strangers in the shot were undoubtedly my parents. And as I grappled with the shock of seeing a photo of my mum and dad for the first time, my eyes fell on the stories about them – ‘con artists’, ‘faked own death’. The words swirled around my head. After decades of wondering and searching, at the age of 44, I finally knew the truth – my parents were criminals.
I was six years old when I first heard I was adopted, when my sister Leah*, then nine, blurted it out. But it wasn’t until I
