I never thought anything could hurt more than losing Rachel. She was more than my best friend—she was my sister, my other half since the second grade. When cancer took her, I held her hand until her last breath, believing the pain would fade with time. But grief lingered like a shadow, and just when I started to find moments of peace, a knock shattered the calm.
It was Amanda—Rachel’s older sister—worn down and clutching a child’s pink backpack and a heavy envelope. “It’s about Lily,” she said. My heart skipped. Lily, Rachel’s daughter, who we had loved like our own. Amanda’s next words turned my world upside down: “She’s your husband’s child.” And just like that, everything I thought I knew began to unravel.