“Gloria, we found a possible identity.”
My heart began pounding.
She turned the next page.
A birth certificate.
A woman’s name.
**ELEANOR WHITMORE.**
I stared at it.
Whitmore.
Malcolm’s surname.
Then I saw the date of birth.
The same as mine.
The same month.
The same day.
The same year.
My hands began shaking.
“That’s impossible.”
Detective Grant looked at me.
“Gloria, did your mother ever tell you that you were born a twin?”
The room went silent.
I stared at the document.
“No.”
But suddenly, an old memory surfaced.
My mother sitting beside my childhood bed.
Crying while she looked at a photograph of two newborn girls.
When I asked who the other baby was, she put the picture away.
She told me it belonged to a friend.
I hadn’t thought about that moment in sixty years.
Now I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I looked at Detective Grant.
