The letter arrived on a Tuesday, crisp and white amidst the usual bills and flyers. It simply stated: "We need to talk. Your father..." and a phone number. Evelyn felt a jolt, a cold prickle at the base of her skull. She crumpled the envelope, then smoothed it out, smoothing it again, and again, until the paper threatened to tear. She looked around the kitchen, her gaze darting from the window to the door, as if someone were watching. Her chest felt constricted, as if a weight had settled there.
She dialed the number later that day, her hand trembling. A woman with a familiar voice answered. "Yes?" she said, and then, after an explanation, "I'd like to meet you." Evelyn agreed, her voice barely a whisper. The next few days felt like a pressure cooker. She found herself checking locks repeatedly, flinching at unexpected noises. The streetlights outside her window seemed to cast menacing shadows.
The meeting itself was a blur. The woman, Sarah, seemed genuine, but Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, of being the subject of someone else's scrutiny. She kept watching her own reflection in the restaurant window. "So, you're my sister," Sarah said, and Evelyn felt a tremor run through her. She had a sister now. A stranger.