Chapter 10 - THE SISTER WHO WAS ERASED
For twenty-six years, I'd believed I was born alone.
Now a medical record claimed I had a twin sister.
I stared at the document until the letters blurred.
Sarah Isabella Bellini.
Sophia Julia Bellini.
Two girls.
Same birth date.
Same parents.
Two different futures.
My hands trembled.
“Why didn't Grandma tell me?”
Rebecca looked devastated.
“We need to establish whether the record is authentic.”
I nodded.
That was important.
But my heart was already racing.
When I was little, Grandma sometimes called me Sofia by mistake.
I thought it was an affectionate nickname.
Now the memory felt different.
Vincent sat beside me.
“Are you okay?”
I laughed weakly.
“No.”
He didn't ask again.
He simply waited.
The independent records review uncovered a birth certificate for Sophia Bellini.
But a later document claimed she died during infancy.
The death certificate contained irregularities.
A mismatched date.
An incomplete registration number.
And the signature of Dr. Nathan Morelli.
Again.
I stared.
“Why does that man appear in every document involving my family?”
Rebecca looked grim.
“That's one of the questions investigators are asking.”
Then Francesca agreed to another interview.
She remembered caring for two little girls at the retreat.
One was frightened and cried constantly.
The other hardly spoke.
Both had dark hair.
Both wore matching silver bracelets.
One bracelet had an engraved S.
The other had a tiny blue star.
I touched my wrist instinctively.
When I was ten, Grandma gave me a silver bracelet with the letter S.
I wore it until the clasp broke.
She kept it in her jewelry box.
I'd never thought to ask why.
Now I wondered whether Sophia had been given the matching one.
The investigation continued.
A photograph from the retreat showed two little girls sitting together on a bench.
The image was grainy.
But their faces were nearly identical.
I covered my mouth.
One was me.
The other was Sophia.
My sister.
Alive after the age at which the documents claimed she died.
Rebecca contacted specialists in historic guardianship and adoption records.
Several records had been altered or sealed.
But a name emerged.
Sophie Romano.
A twenty-six-year-old woman living in Providence, Rhode Island.
She worked as a pediatric nurse.
She had grown up believing she was adopted after her biological parents died.
And in one public photograph, she wore a silver bracelet with a tiny blue star.
I began crying.
Vincent looked at me.
“We can contact her carefully.”
I nodded.
I didn't want to frighten Sophia.
I didn't want to burst into her life and announce something we hadn't fully verified.
So we sent a letter through an independent intermediary.
Explaining what we'd found.
Offering information.
Giving her the choice to respond.
Three days later, she called.
Her voice sounded exactly like mine.
“Sarah?”
I stopped breathing.
“Yes?”
She took a shaky breath.
“I think you're my sister.”
I began crying.
Then she whispered something extraordinary.
“I've been looking for you too.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Sophia said:
“Sarah, I know where Mom is.”
My heart stopped.
“And I need to warn you.”
“About what?”
May you like
Her voice trembled.
“Gabriel Santoro knows we're talking.”
