Karen came to me three years ago because she discovered something about you.
My hands went numb.
“What did she discover?” I asked.
My husband stared at the floor. For the first time that night, he didn’t look like a man caught cheating. He looked terrified.
“She found out that your mother had been hiding something from you.”
I frowned. “My mother?”
He nodded slowly.
“Karen found an old envelope in your mother’s house. It had your name on it. She opened it because she thought it was important, and what she found inside changed everything.”
I could barely breathe.
“What was in the envelope?”
He looked at me, his eyes filling with tears.
“Your birth certificate.”
I froze.
“What about it?”
“There was a second one.”
The room suddenly felt unbearably quiet.
He continued, “Karen discovered that the woman you grew up calling your mother wasn’t actually your biological mother.”
I shook my head.
“No. That’s impossible.”
“She didn’t know how to tell you. So she came to me. She asked me to help her find out the truth.”
“Then why did you lie to me for three years?”
He closed his eyes.
“Because the truth wasn’t the worst part.”
My voice cracked.
“What could possibly be worse than finding out your entire childhood was a lie?”
He reached into his jacket and placed another envelope on the table.
“This.”
I stared at it.
My name was written across the front in handwriting I recognized immediately.
My mother’s handwriting.
I slowly reached for the envelope.
But before I could open it, my husband whispered,
“There’s one thing you need to understand.”
I looked at him.
“Karen wasn’t the woman I was having an affair with.”
My heart stopped.
“Then why was your car at her house?”
He swallowed.
“Because she is your sister.”
I stared at him in confusion.
“She isn’t your sister by blood,” he said. “She’s your biological sister.”
I couldn’t speak.
Then he added the words that shattered everything I thought I knew about my family.
“Karen has been searching for you since the day you were born.”
