My name is Rachel. Two hours ago, I had one family. Now I'm not sure I know anything about my life anymore.

Dad died on a Tuesday. Heart attack. Sudden, unexpected, brutal. He was fifty-four, healthy, went to the gym three times a week. Mom found him in his home office, slumped over his desk.

The funeral was supposed to be small. Close family, few colleagues. Dad was private. He didn't like crowds.

So when I saw strangers walking through the cemetery gates, I assumed they were lost.

Then I recognized Emma.

We've been best friends since freshman year of college. Roommates for four years. She was my maid of honor at my wedding. She knows everything about me — my fears, my secrets, my family.

Or so I thought.

She walked toward us with a woman who looked like an older version of her. Same blonde hair, same green eyes. The woman was carrying a framed photo.