She looked at me.
“Everybody knew?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
Her expression changed.
The shock became something else.
Betrayal.
“You all kept this from me?”
“We thought we were protecting you,” I said.
Her eyes snapped toward me.
“Protecting me from what?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
“From knowing I had a sister?”
“From feeling guilty.”
“For being alive?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me.
“So you decided how I would feel before I even knew?”
“I was scared.”
“You were scared?”
Her voice rose.
“What about me?”
Then she pointed toward the chest.
“What’s inside?”
David swallowed.
“I started it the night Rosie died.”
He opened the lid.
Carved into the inside were two names.
HANNAH & ROSIE.
Inside were two hospital bracelets.
Two newborn hats.
A tiny pink blanket.
Photographs.
So many photographs.
Pictures I hadn’t seen in nearly eighteen years.
Me holding both girls.
David asleep on the couch with one baby resting on his chest andthe other in his arm.
