A routine babysitting favor turned my world upside down when I found a photo of my mother in my neighbor Everly’s home. We had recently moved to a new city, and Everly quickly became a close friend. One afternoon, while babysitting, I noticed a photo hanging in her kitchen. My heart raced as I recognized the woman next to a little girl—it was my mom.

When Everly returned, I asked about the photo. “That’s me and my mom,” she replied. My stomach dropped. “Your mom?” I echoed, stunned. “That’s my mom too.”

Confusion filled the room as we realized we were both daughters of the same woman. As we compared stories, the pieces began to fit. Everly was born in 1996; I was born in 1991. We shared memories of our mother’s visits, but it became clear she had kept us apart on purpose.

A week later, I confronted my mom. When she arrived, Everly was with me. After revealing the truth about the photo, my mother admitted, “Yes, I had two daughters.” She explained her complicated past, including an affair and her fear of the consequences.

Anger and sadness flooded me. “You robbed us of so much time,” Everly said quietly. My mom pleaded for a chance to make things right.

After she left, Everly turned to me, a small smile breaking through. “Maybe we can start over… as sisters.” I nodded, feeling a mix of hope and uncertainty. We finally had each other, and that was a start.