⸻
It wasn’t a stranger.
It was Paige. My own sister.
⸻
“Paige,” I whispered, my voice barely working. “I never imagined this from you.”
And standing there on that sidewalk, watching my sister’s face go through a rapid, horrified cascade of recognition, I understood, all at once, that I had spent six years living inside a lie I’d never once been given the chance to question.
⸻
Paige froze completely, her hand still wrapped around Elisa’s small fingers.
“Adele,” she said. “I can explain.”
“Please do,” I said. “Because right now, I’m looking at a dead daughter walking into school holding your hand.”
⸻
Paige’s face crumpled. “She’s not dead, Adele. Obviously. I need you to let me explain before you do anything you can’t take back.”
⸻
We stepped away from the crowd of parents and kids, Paige quickly arranging for another mother to walk both girls inside, promising she’d only be a few minutes.
⸻
“Six years,” I said, once we were alone near the side of the building. “Six years, Paige. You let me bury an empty casket. You sat next to me at the funeral. You held my hand through the entire service.”
