Maybe our similar appearance had nothing to do with my family.
But the more we talked, the stranger the situation became.
Margaret remembered being told very little about her birth.
Her adoption had taken place when she was an infant.
She had no information about her biological parents.
I returned home with more questions than answers.
For the first time in my life, I looked at my parents’ belongings differently.
After their deaths, I had stored boxes of old paperwork away and rarely touched them.
Now I brought one of those boxes into the kitchen.
I opened it.
Tax documents.
Medical records.
Old receipts.
Letters.
Documents from decades ago.
I searched through everything.
Then, near the bottom, I found a thin folder.
My hands began shaking before I even opened it.
Inside was an adoption document.
It concerned a baby girl.
The child had been born five years before me.
I read the document again.
Then again.
The dates suddenly made sense.
Margaret hadn’t been my twin.
She was my older biological sister.
I sat at the kitchen table trying to absorb what I had discovered.
But there was something else.
Behind the adoption paperwork was a handwritten note.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It belonged to my mother.
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