She hated coffee now.
She loved thunderstorms.
She had a small tattoo behind her shoulder.
There were entire civilizations inside my sister’s life that had risen and fallen without me knowing they existed.
“Did your wife know?”
“Hannah knew I was estranged from my family.”
“Did she know we thought you were dead?”
“No.”
I laughed.
It sounded terrible.
“So you lied to everyone.”
“Mostly by omission.”
“That’s what liars say when they want better branding.”
She accepted that.
“Did you watch us?”
Rebecca didn’t answer.
“Did you look me up?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“At first, rarely.”
“And later?”
“Birthdays. Sometimes Christmas.”
My stomach turned.
“You watched Lucy grow up.”
“Only pictures.”
“She’s your niece.”
“I know.”
“You knew her name?”
“Yes.”
“Her birthday?”
“Yes.”
I backed away from the bed.
For years, I’d imagined Rebecca somewhere beyond reach.
Meanwhile, she’d been looking at my daughter’s school photographs online.
