placed both children on a soft blanket.
Then I found the photograph we’d taken months earlier.
Two little pairs of socks.
Yellow and green.
Emily looked at the babies and smiled through her tears.
“We really did become mothers.”
I nodded.
“And we discovered we were sisters.”
She laughed softly.
“We always were.”
That afternoon, we made an important promise.
Our children would grow up knowing their family history.
We wouldn’t hide medical information or invent comforting stories to avoid difficult conversations.
We would tell them the truth in ways
