"That's impossible," I said. "My parents have been married for thirty years."
Patricia looked at my mother. Something passed between them. Recognition. Understanding. Horror.
"Thirty-two years," Patricia said quietly. "We were married for thirty-two years. Emma is his daughter."
The world tilted sideways.
Emma. My best friend. My college roommate. The girl who held my hair when I was sick, who listened to me cry about boys, who stood next to me on the most important day of my life.
My sister.
"You knew," I turned to Emma. "You knew and you never told me."
"I didn't know!" She grabbed my hands. "I swear, Rachel, I found out three days ago. When he died. Mom told me everything."