The address was twenty minutes away.

I drove there immediately.

Apartment 4B.

The key turned easily.

When I stepped inside, I froze.

The walls were covered in photographs of me.

At my mailbox. In my garden. At the Fourth of July parade. Laughing. Talking. Living my life.

My hands shook as I called 911.

The police arrived quickly. Neighbors gathered in the hallway.

“Is Daniel okay?” a woman asked.

“Daniel hasn’t lived here in years,” another neighbor added. “He just checks the mail sometimes.”

Daniel?

That wasn’t Mr. White’s name.

Inside, officers found a large yellow envelope labeled For Her.

Inside were documents.

My original birth record.

My birth name.

And listed beneath it — a sibling.

Daniel.

The officers handed me a letter.

Anna,
I was ten when they took you away. You were just a baby. I never stopped looking for you. I didn’t want you to remember that day. I didn’t want you to carry the same emptiness I did.

There were also hospice intake forms dated the same day he’d asked me to watch Jasper.

He wasn’t missing.

He had checked himself into end-of-life care.

The photographs suddenly made sense. They weren’t taken from hiding places. They were taken from across the street, at public events.

He hadn’t been stalking me.

He had been watching his sister.

I rushed to the care facility.

At the front desk, I showed the documents. “I’m his sister,” I said.

They led me to his room.

He looked smaller in the hospital bed.

I sat beside him and took his hand.

“Daniel,” I whispered. “It’s Anna. I’m here.”

His eyes opened slowly.

“Annie?” he breathed.

“I didn’t know,” I said through tears. “They never told me.”

He gave a weak smile. “I wanted to tell you. I just… didn’t know how. I thought maybe Jasper would lead you.”

The nurse returned with paperwork.

“For next-of-kin authorization.”

Daniel looked at me and nodded.

I signed.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t an only child.

I was someone’s sister.

And I was finally home.