Why?
Because Elena had a rare hereditary disease.
A disease my father desperately wanted to hide.
He couldn’t bear the shame.
So he raised me as his biological daughter and Elena as someone who didn’t exist.
But that still didn’t explain the photographs.
Or Trevor.
Or Paisley’s words.
Then Rosalyn whispered:
“There’s one more thing.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Your daughter wasn’t pointing at my stomach.”
My heart stopped.
“She was pointing at the scar.”
“What scar?”
Rosalyn turned around.
She lifted the back of her swimsuit slightly.
There was a thin surgical scar across her lower back.
I recognized it.
Because I had seen it once before.
On my father.
The same scar.
“What happened?”
Rosalyn whispered:
“Your father had surgery eighteen years ago.”
“For what?”
“A kidney transplant.”
I stared.
Then she said:
“His donor was Elena.”
I couldn’t speak.
