“In some ways, the search for a woman I’ll call Marie was like countless others I’d done as a journalist.
“It began with a name and an old address. I surfed the Web and worked the phones, and before long I was pretty sure I’d found her.
“So I bought a ticket, hopped on a plane and took a rental car to her neighborhood in a small town outside Dublin, Ireland. I drove up and down her street, looking for a good spot from which to watch and wait for the right moment to introduce myself.
“The difference between this stakeout and the many others I’d been on was that my quarry wasn’t some corrupt public official or otherwise newsworthy figure; she was the woman who gave birth to me — and then gave me away.
