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.”
