“Maybe she won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

That usually ended the conversation.

Sometimes I resented David for bringing Rosie up.

Other times, I resented him for allowing me to silence him.

The truth was, I had held two babies in my arms for nine days.

Then I had been left with only one.

I had spent years pretending the missing child had never existed.

David handled his grief differently.

Every year after Hannah’s birthday celebration, he disappeared into the garage for about an hour.

I never asked what he was doing.

I assumed he needed time alone.

I had my own rituals.

I always did laundry on Hannah’s birthday, even if there wasn’t enough for a full load.

Folding towels calmed me.

We had become experts at grieving separately.

Then Hannah turned eighteen.

We threw a party at our house.

About thirty people came.

Relatives.

Neighbors.

Friends.

My brother handled the grill.

My sister brought far too much potato salad.

There was a grocery-store cake with HAPPY 18TH, HANNAH! written in blue frosting.

Her biggest present was a used car.

Nothing fancy.

But hers.

When David handed her the keys, she screamed.

“Oh my God!”

She threw her arms around him.

“You actually bought it?”

He laughed.

“No, that’s a random car I stole for the occasion.”

She hit his shoulder.

Everyone laughed.

I remember watching her and thinking how happy she looked.

For years, her happiness had always been the reason we waited.

Not today.

After the presents were opened, David stood.

“Can everyone give us a minute?”

I looked at him.

Immediately, I knew.

My sister knew too.

Her expression changed.

“No,” I whispered.

David finally met my eyes.

He wasn’t angry.

He simply looked decided.

“Today is the day.”

My heart began pounding.

“Hannah looked between us.

“What’s going on?”

My mother stood first.

“Come on, everyone. Let’s give them some privacy.”

People began gathering plates and moving away.

Hannah’s friends looked confused.

My family looked terrified.

I wanted to stop it.

But suddenly, I couldn’t think of a single sentence that would make the situation better.

David walked into the garage.

A minute later, he returned carrying a wooden chest.

I had never seen it before.

Not once.

Almost eighteen years in the same house, and somehow I had never known it existed.

The chest was handmade.

Dark wood.

Uneven corners.

Imperfect hinges.

David placed it on the patio table in front of Hannah.

She ran her fingers over the lid.

“Dad, what is this?”

He sat across from her.

Then he said,

“There’s something we should have told you a long time ago.”

I felt sick.

Hannah looked at me.

I couldn’t meet her eyes.

David continued.

“You weren’t born alone.”

She frowned.

“What?”

“You had a twin sister.”

Hannah froze.

David’s voice cracked.

“Her name was Rosie.”

She didn’t move.

“She was born eleven minutes after you.”

Her hands remained on top of the wooden box.

“She di3d nine days after we brought you home.”

Silence.

I expected Hannah to cry.

She didn’t.

I expected yelling.

Nothing.

Instead, she asked one question.

“Does everyone know?”

That hurt worse.

David nodded.

“Yes.”

“Grandma knows?”

“Yes.”

“Uncle Matt?”

“Yes.”

“Aunt Lisa?”

“Yes.”

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?”