“Who is Susan?”
Grandpa took a breath.
“She is my younger sister.”
For a moment, I said nothing.
“You have a sister?”
“I did. Or at least, that’s what I thought.”
“Mom has never mentioned her.”
“Because Linda didn’t want you to know.”
Anger rose in me instantly.
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because the little girl in that photograph… isn’t your mother.”
“I didn’t think she was.”
“Emily, let me finish.”
He opened the lowest kitchen drawer and pulled out an old metal box.
It was so old that the corners had darkened.
Inside were dozens of photographs.
Susan.
A young George.
And the same little girl.
In one photo, the child was standing beside a birthday cake.
In another, she was at the beach.
In a third, George was carrying her on his shoulders.
“Her name was Anna,” Grandpa said.
“Who was she?”
“Susan’s daughter.”
I didn’t understand what any of this had to do with me.
“Then why would Mom want all of this hidden?”
George slowly said,
“Because Anna didn’t grow up with Susan.”
Something tightened inside me.
“Who did she grow up with?”
Grandpa looked directly into my eyes.
