When my father saw her standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with tears.
He embraced her.
“Your mother would have given anything to see you again.”
Emily began sobbing.
“I spent my whole life believing she didn’t want me.”
“No, sweetheart,” he whispered. “She loved you. She wanted you to have the life she couldn’t give you.”
The three of us sat together for hours, sharing memories and discovering the family history we’d never known.
Three months later, Emily gave birth to a healthy baby girl.
She named her Mary, after our mother.
Three weeks later, my son Noah was born.
When I held him for the first time, I cried harder than I ever had before.
We had planned for our children to share the same biological father.
But we’d never imagined their mothers were sisters, too.
Dr. Harris later reassured us that both children’s examinations were encouraging. Each baby had inherited a unique combination of genes, and neither showed any serious problem in the completed screenings.
