We Never Told Our Daughter She Had a Twin Sister My Husband Had Saved Something for Their 18th Birthday

She sat across from us.

Then she said, “I don’t feel guilty that I lived.”

I looked at her.

She was crying now. “I feel sad she died.”

“I know. We all do.”

“I feel weird that I had a twin and I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I feel like I’m supposed to miss somebody I never knew.”

I reached for her hand.

She let me take it.

Then she said, “But I don’t feel guilty.”

My throat closed.

“I feel angry that you thought I would.”

“We made assumptions.”

She shook her head.

“You don’t get to decide what I can handle just because you’re afraid of how I’ll react.”

“You’re right.”

“I should have known her name.”

That broke me.

“You’re right.”

“I should have had pictures.”

“Yes.”

“I should have known why Grandma used to cry on my birthday.”

I covered my mouth.

Hannah looked at both of us.

“I’m not saying you wanted to hurt me.”

David said, “We didn’t.”

“I know.”

“But we did.”

“Yes.”

That was the first honest conversation we’d had about Rosie as a family.

Not the last.

A week later, Hannah asked where Rosie was buried.

She had never been to the cemetery where Rosie was buried.

Of course she hadn’t.