I squeezed her hand.
“Well, you have one now.”
She laughed.
“Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with me.”
I laughed too.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
We sat together until the evening grew dark.
For years, I had believed that the greatest tragedy of my childhood was losing my mother.
But now I understood something I had never considered.
My mother had lost a daughter too.
And although she had never lived long enough to see us discover the truth, she had somehow left behind the connection that brought us back together.
We had planned for our children to become siblings.
We had imagined them growing up together, sharing the same father, and building memories that would last a lifetime.
But we had never imagined that their mothers would share the same mother.
Sometimes, when I watch Mary and Noah playing together, I think about the doctor who once looked at our genetic results and turned pale.
