“What do you mean?” Adrian asked.
Clara reached into her handbag and removed a folded envelope, old enough that its edges had softened. “Sofia was told she had miscarried. She believed it for three days.”
Adrian’s voice came out hoarse. “What?”
Clara’s hand trembled as she opened the envelope. “A nurse from the clinic contacted her privately. She said the records were wrong. Sofia had been pregnant with twins. One had been lost. The other…” Clara closed her eyes. “The other was taken from her.”
The monitor beside me quickened.
Dr. Walsh stepped forward, but I shook my head before she could speak.
Adrian looked as if the room had vanished beneath him.
“A child?” he said. “Sofia had a child?”
“A daughter,” Clara answered.
Marianne’s face had gone pale.
I could barely form words. “I have a sister?”
Clara nodded.
“A half sister,” she said. “Older than you by twenty-seven years and six months.”
