I’d kept track of my monthlies, counted days and, for one week a month, knelt by my narrow bed and prayed. I didn’t know if it was God, luck or my monthly planning, but I left the island carrying only two small suitcases. I found work in Copenhagen again, this time with the British ambassador and his wife. They had no children, and I was considered an ideal employee because I had none either. Now in my mid-twenties with no husband and no suitor, none were expected, and I could devote myself to their household. I worked for them for more than two years, and during that time, I tried not to think of the baby, to convince myself that my life was simple, calm, but I could feel my youth draining away, puddled around my feet, standing water.
The ambassador was rarely home and his wife tried to
