In September 2014, I gave birth to my third daughter, Nadine, in Auckland, New Zealand. It had been a dramatic delivery. Three epidurals had left me with a stiff neck and an excruciating headache. So a few days after her birth, I was back for tests, bringing her along with me as she needed feeding.
It was the last place I wanted to be. Despite the exhaustion, I didn’t want to let Nadine out of my arms. But I was desperate for a shower. The hospital had given me an en suite bedroom, but I still paused before I stepped into the bathroom, watching Nadine sleeping in her cot. Should I wheel her in with me? I decided not to. She was safe and settled, and I’d only be a few feet away.
Afterwards, as I walked back into the bedroom, a nurse was standing there. We both looked into Nadine’s cot. It was empty. “Did you pick her up?” I asked. “No,” she replied. Instantly, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like ice-cold water had been poured over me.
As the nurse called for security, I fell on my hands and knees, and frantically searched the floor, thinking maybe she had fallen out of her cot and rolled away. That’s when the awful realisation hit me: someone had taken my baby.
I flew down the corridor screaming at everyone I saw: “Do you have my baby?” Everything became a blur as a nurse led me back to my bed. With her arm around my shoulder, I called my husband, Conrad. My voice cracked as I heard myself say, “Don’t tell the kids, but Nadine is gone. You need to get here now.”
I felt trapped in a waking nightmare. I’d never felt fear like it. But I didn’t cry until Conrad ran in 20 minutes later. Then I broke down. Why hadn’t I taken Nadine to the bathroom with me? The guilt was awful.
When the police came and told us they would be checking CCTV, Conrad jumped up. “Take me with you,” he said. They had to calm him down, persuading him to stay with me and let them do their jobs.
After 30 minutes, an officer returned. He showed us a grainy image of a woman in dark glasses with a baby in her arms. It had been taken outside the hospital. She was known to the staff – she lived locally and desperately wanted to have a child of her own.
As the police left to investigate, we could only wait and pray. Every so often an officer would return to see us, but they didn’t have any more news. I replayed the second I’d walked away from Nadine’s cot over and over. Why hadn’t I taken her into the bathroom with me? I thought about Vanja and Isabella, who were being looked after by a relative. How could any of us live without their sister? At about 2am, a nurse gave me tablets to help me sleep.
A phone ringing woke me with a start. I saw Conrad answer and my heart seemed to stop as I watched him listen, expressionless. Then his face broke out into a smile. Even before he said, “They’ve found her,” I knew. I leapt out of bed and into his arms. We were in floods of tears as we hugged and jumped around the room.
Twenty minutes later, a police officer arrived, pushing Nadine in a cot. As I held her, Conrad put his arms around us. We cried. The world felt right again. The officer said Nadine had been found at the house of the woman who was in the CCTV image. They said the baby was unhurt and that they’d arrested the kidnapper and her partner.
I still had to have a scan on my neck, but was discharged a few hours later. It should have been wonderful to be back home, but because our story had been on the news, it was crazy. The phone didn’t stop ringing and our house was filled with friends and family.
The kidnapper was later tried in court and pleaded guilty. I never hated her; I pitied her. She’d wanted a baby, not my baby specifically. But I was glad that a line had been drawn.
The trauma of that night faded, but didn’t disappear. I gave up my job in accounts to become a childminder so I didn’t have to leave Nadine. Even now, nine years later, I’ll panic if I haven’t seen her for more than 10 minutes. But Nadine is an absolute joy – talkative, bubbly, confident. She’s spoilt rotten by us all and rules the roost. Now I watch her sleeping, and am thankful every single day that she came back to me.
• As told to Kate Graham
Do you have an experience to share? Email experience@theguardian.com
