But what we were about to discover was something neither of us could have imagined.
Twenty-five years earlier, Emily and I had been two little girls who believed we would never be separated.
We had grown up on the same street, attended the same elementary school, shared our lunches, and spent almost every weekend at one another’s houses.
If I had a birthday party, Emily was there.
If Emily was sick, I was the first person to visit her.
Our mothers used to laugh whenever they saw us walking together.
“Those two are practically sisters,” they would say.
We never disagreed.
In fact, we loved calling each other sisters.
What neither of us knew was that the truth was much closer than anyone could have imagined.
My name is Sarah, and my childhood was not particularly easy.
My mother, Mary, died in a car accident when I was six years old. I still remember the night my father sat beside my bed, holding my little hand and trying to explain why Mommy would never come home again.
