C17 The Sister I Never Mourned

The word leaves my mouth before I've even decided to say it.

"My sister."

The girl in the doorway doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stares at me with eyes the exact same shade of gray as mine, as my father's, as the woman who supposedly died bearing only one child, not two. I search her face the way I searched my father's minutes ago, looking for something undeniable