“And Robert?”
“He doesn’t know anything yet.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Enough! Will somebody finally explain what’s going on?”
Grandma looked at me.
“First, everyone sit down. The soup is getting cold.”
Her words almost drove me crazy.
“Grandma, these people are telling me I have a sister, and you’re worried about the soup?”
She slowly pulled out a chair.
“Because for twenty-three years, I’ve been making that soup for this very day.”
When we all sat down, Grandma placed the yellowed envelope on the table.
Inside were three documents.
The first was Lily’s birth certificate.
The father’s name was Robert.
The second was an old hospital record.
And the third was a letter written in Grandma’s handwriting.
She began telling us the story.
Twenty-three years earlier, my father was twenty-four years old. At the time, he hadn’t married my mother yet.
