My parents exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent conversation passing between them. My father, looking older and wearier than I remembered, cleared his throat. “She’s your sister’s daughter,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sister? The word echoed in my mind, foreign and bewildering. I had a sister?
Seeing my confusion, my mother stepped forward, her eyes pleading. “We had her a few years after you left,” she explained. “We thought…we thought it might fill the void you left behind.”
