Their daughter.

My sister.

I stopped breathing.

A sister had existed my entire life, and I had never known.

Then an old photograph slipped from behind one of the documents.

A teenage girl smiled at the camera, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Is that Rachel?”

Mom nodded.

I stared at the picture.

Something about her expression felt strangely familiar.

“Is she alive?”

Mom’s face changed.

“No.”

The answer hit harder than I expected.

“When did she die?”

“Several years ago.”

“How?”

“I don’t know everything. Your father barely talked about it.”

I stared at Rachel’s photograph.

“Did she have a child?”

Mom went very still.

“Sophie…”

“Did she?”

“I don’t know.”

But her expression told me enough.

I was already reaching for my phone.

The social worker answered on the fourth ring.

“I need to ask you something about Leo’s mother.”

A pause.

“What?”

“Did she die several years ago?”

“Sophie, I really can’t discuss—”

“Please.”

My voice shook.

“I just found out that I had a sister nobody ever told me about.”

Silence.

“Was Rachel Leo’s mother?”

I heard a quiet breath.

“Yes.”

My knees weakened.

“Then why was Leo in foster care? Did Rachel abandon him?”

“No.”

The response came quickly.

“She did not abandon him.”

“Then what happened?”

“She died when Leo was very young. There was no parent available afterward who could care for him.”

I sat down beside Dad’s boxes.

“And Daniel?”

“What about him?”

“Why was he visiting Leo?”

The silence answered before she did.

Finally, she said,

“Daniel was Rachel’s father.”

My father had been secretly visiting Rachel’s son.

His grandson.

Which meant the eight-year-old downstairs arguing with Ethan over cereal wasn’t some unrelated child who had somehow ended up with Dad’s watch.

Leo was my nephew.

I ended the call and looked at Mom.

“When did Dad reconnect with Rachel?”

“Near the end of her life.”

“And after she died?”

“He kept visiting Leo.”

“Without telling me.”