George was silent for a long time.
Then he said,
“Because Anna left with Susan.”
“And then?”
“Three years later, they disappeared.”
“What do you mean, disappeared?”
“They changed cities. Phone numbers. Left no address. We searched for years.”
I looked at my phone.
“And now she just found me on Facebook?”
“Not just you.”
“What do you mean?”
Another message arrived.
This time, only one sentence.
Emily, I didn’t contact you because of George. I contacted you because of Anna.
My heart began pounding.
I typed:
“Where is she?”
There was no answer for a long time.
Then a photo arrived.
A recent one.
Not from 1989.
From this year.
A woman around forty was standing in front of a house.
Something about her face looked strangely familiar.
Her eyes.
Her smile.
For several seconds, I couldn’t understand why.
Then Grandpa whispered,
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
He placed a finger on the woman’s face.
“Look at her eyes.”
I did.
And I remembered old photographs of my mother when she was young.
The resemblance was frightening.
My phone vibrated again.
Anna has believed her whole life that Linda is her sister. But three weeks ago, I found a document that proves your family has been hiding something even bigger from all of us.
