Chapter Nine
Emma’s words blur as I stare at them, my phone screen lighting up my dark room. Five simple words that flip my entire world upside down. Emma found me. Emma knows about me. Emma actually reached out first.
My hands shake as I tap on her profile picture to see it larger. There she is, my half sister, looking so much like me it’s unsettling.
I scroll through her Instagram before I lose my nerve to respond.
Emma in a cheerleading uniform, pom-poms raised in victory after what looks like a competition.
Emma at what looks like a homecoming dance, stunning in a navy blue dress.
Emma with friends at lunch, laughing at something off-camera.
Emma with Jeremy and Lilly at what appears to be a family barbecue, all three of them grinning at the camera like they don’t have a care in the world.
Normal family photos. The kind I’ve never had.
But what strikes me most is how happy she looks in every single picture. Not posed-for-social-media happy, but genuinely content. Like she’s never spent a single moment wondering where she came from or why half her family history is a blank space.
I keep scrolling, hungry for details about the sister I never knew existed.
Emma in a cheerleading uniform, pom-poms raised in victory after what looks like a competition.
Emma on what looks like a family vacation to the beach, building sandcastles with Jeremy.
Emma graduating from what must be middle school, Jeremy’s arm around her shoulders, both of them beaming.
Eighteen years of moments I wasn’t part of. Eighteen years of Emma getting everything I always wanted, a father who was there for soccer games and graduations and random Tuesday afternoon barbecues.
But she reached out to me. That has to mean something.
I tap back to her message, my heart hammering against my ribs. What do you say to the sister you never knew you had? How do you respond to someone who got the life you always wondered about?
I start typing and deleting, over and over.
Hi Emma. This is crazy.
Delete.
I can’t believe you found me. How long have you known?
Delete.
Hi. Yeah, I guess we are sisters. I’ve been wondering about you.
Delete.
Finally, I settle on something simple:
Hi Emma. This is so surreal. I’ve seen your photos on your dad’s website but never imagined you knew about me.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately wish I could take it back. Your dad’s website. Like I’ve been stalking their family, which I guess I have been.
Three dots appear almost instantly. She’s typing back.
Emma: I’ve known about you for over a year. Dad told me after I found some old photos in his closet. I’ve been wanting to reach out but wasn’t sure if you’d want to hear from me.
The photos are a few from when you were a baby. And he’s followed your soccer career through your school’s website and stuff. He’s really proud of how good you are.
My breath catches. Dad. She calls Jeremy dad so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because for her, it is. I can’t believe he has photos.
He’s been following my soccer career. Jeremy, my father, has been watching me from a distance, keeping track of my games and achievements. The father I thought had forgotten about me completely has been paying attention all along.
Me: That’s… I had no idea. I thought he didn’t want anything to do with me.
Emma: Are you kidding? He talks about you all the time. He just didn’t know if it was his place to reach out. Your mom made it pretty clear she wanted him to stay away.
There it is. The elephant in the room. My mom made it clear she wanted him to stay away.
Me: It’s complicated.
Emma: I know. my mom told me about everything when I found out about you. About the affair and the pregnancy and how your mom left Michigan. I’m sorry. I know it’s messed up.
She’s apologizing for her mother’s affair. For the thing that tore our families apart before we were even born. I want to tell her it’s not her fault, that she was just a baby too, but I don’t know how to say that without making it weird.
Me: We were both just babies. Not our fault.
Emma: I know, but still. I’ve felt guilty about it since I found out. Like, I got to grow up with Dad and you didn’t, and that’s not fair.
Me: What’s he like? As a dad, I mean.
Emma: He’s great. Really patient and funny. He taught me how to drive stick shift in his old pickup truck, and he never missed a cheer until I quit last year. He makes terrible pancakes on Sunday mornings and always lets me pick the music in the car.
Each detail is like a small knife to the chest. Sunday morning pancakes.
Cheer. Teaching her to drive. All the normal dad things.
While Robert has never missed a game and has always been there for me like I am his own, it hits different when my biological father could have had these moments with me too.
Me: You quit cheer?
Emma: Yeah, I’m more into theater now. He was disappointed at first but he supports it. He came to my play last month and brought flowers.
Of course he did. Of course Jeremy shows up for Emma’s theater performances and brings flowers. Of course he’s the kind of dad who adapts when his daughter’s interests change.
Me: That’s really nice. I’m still playing. Senior year and hoping for a scholarship.
Emma: Dad mentioned that! He said you’re really good. Like, college-level good.
Me: He said that?
Emma: Yes.
Emma: Can I ask you something?
Me: Of course.
Emma: What’s your mom like? I mean, I know what happened between her and Dad, but what’s she like as a mom?
The question catches me off guard. What is my om like? How do I explain her, to the daughter of the woman she considers her worst enemy?
Me: She’s protective. Really protective. Sometimes too protective. She loves me a lot, but she’s spent my whole life trying to shelter me from anything that might hurt me.
Emma: Including Dad?
Me: Yeah. Including him.
Emma: Do you hate her? My mom, I mean?
Me: I don’t know her well enough to hate her. I’m angry about the situation, but not at you or her specifically. It’s just… complicated.
Emma: She feels really guilty about it. About everything. She and Dad went to counseling for years to work through it.
Me: They’re still together?
Emma: No. They divorced when I was little. It’s been hectic, but they try to keep me out of their drama.
Me: Does he ever talk about wanting to see me? Or meet me?
Emma: All the time. Especially lately. He’s been thinking about reaching out now that you’re eighteen and can make your own decisions.
Me: Really? This is a lot to process.
Emma: I know. I’m sorry if this is overwhelming.
I just… I’ve wanted a sister my whole life, and when I found out about you, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you might be like.
I’m an only child, and I always felt like something was missing.
Then I found out I had this whole sister living across the country who I’d never met.
Emma: Maybe we can find out?
Me: I’d like that.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve spent my life feeling like half a person because I didn’t know my father’s side of the family, while Emma spent hers feeling incomplete because she didn’t know about me. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.
Emma: Me too. Can I ask you another question?
Me: Sure.
Emma: Would you ever want to video chat? Or maybe… I know this is crazy, but we’re thinking about visiting California for spring break. If you wanted to meet in person…
Meet in person. The idea terrifies and excites me in equal measure. Emma wants to meet me. More than that, Jeremy might want to meet me too.
Me: That would be amazing. Scary, but amazing.
Emma: Really?
Me: I think so. Yeah. I mean, it’s a lot to think about, but yes. I’d want to meet you.
Emma: That’s so cool! I’ll talk to Dad about it. He’s going to be so excited.
Me: Emma?
Emma: Yeah?
Me: Thank you. For reaching out. I never would have been brave enough to message you first.
Emma: Thank you for answering. I was so nervous you’d think I was some weird stalker girl.
Me: Never
Emma: I should probably get some sleep. School tomorrow. But can we keep talking? Like, regularly?
Me: I’d love that.
Emma: Good. Maybe we can figure out this sister thing together.
Me: Sounds like a plan.
Emma: Good night, Olivia. I’m really glad I finally worked up the courage to message you.
Me: Good night, Emma. Me too.
The conversation ends, but I keep staring at the screen, rereading parts of it to make sure I didn’t imagine the whole thing. Emma is real. She wants to know me.
The realization should make me happy, but instead it makes me angry.
Angry at mom for keeping this from me. Angry at the eighteen years we all lost because she decided what was best for everyone without consulting anyone.
Angry at the lies and the secrets and the careful way she’s constructed our life to avoid this exact moment.
But it’s too late to be angry about the lost years. The only thing I can control is what happens next.
I get up from my bed, legs shaky from sitting still for so long, and walk to my bedroom door. Downstairs, I can hear the faint sound of the television and Mom and Robert’s quiet conversation. Normal evening sounds from a normal family night.
Except nothing about this is normal anymore.
I walk downstairs. Looking over at Mom and Robert who are on the couch watching some detective show, her feet tucked under his legs, his hand absently stroking her hair.
They look comfortable and content, like two people who’ve built a good life together despite the complications that brought them here.
They look up as I appear in the doorway, and Mom’s expression immediately shifts to concern.
“Hey sweetie,” she says, muting the television. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Robert sits up straighter, alert to the tension in the room.
I take a breath, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure they can hear it. There’s no going back from this moment. Once I say the words, everything changes.
“Mom,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “I spoke to Emma.”
The color drains from her face completely. Robert looks confused, glancing between us.
“Emma,” she whispers.