Did she leave? I think. No way. They save the joint trophy ceremony until the very end, so I know she’s still in the building. Plus, her mom and dad are still up in the stands. Cole just left their dad and is walking toward their mom. He catches me looking at him, pumps his fist in the air, and yells something I can’t hear. Something encouraging, I’d bet from his big grin.

I smile and give him a thumbs-up.

My father and Angie, sitting right below where Cole is walking, must think the thumbs-up is for them because they start to wave.

I wave back right before the game clock sounds.

“Shame you’re about to disappoint your fans,” Russell says, standing.

“At least I have fans,” I say, get up, and scan the crowd one more time. Wait! There she is! Up in the middle of the stands. But why is she sitting with Langham? Damn, not her. Just that girl she was guarding who looks like her.

CARLI

Same height. Same nose. Same pale skin with freckles. Same red hair.

Every Sunday for as long as I can remember.

Daddy.

She called him Daddy.

Suddenly and swiftly crumbling the vision of my own.

I can’t go out there. I can’t look at that man who’s lied to me my whole life. That man who hid a whole sister from me.

This shower stall isn’t hiding anything. I’m sitting balled up in a corner with my tears, snot, and iPhone between an empty bottle of Dove bodywash and a rusty Venus razor. A nest of brown hair covers the drain. The moldy bottom edge of the beige shower curtain almost hides a used tampon, but it’s not long enough. All signs of my shitty life.

So many years of hiding her in plain sight. I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my warm-ups.

According to Facebook, Shannon Alexander Jackson was born November eighth—about a year and a half after me and two months after Cole. A throwback Thursday post shows a baby photo of her at the hospital in her mom’s arms. In the background there’s a man ducking underneath the doorway, leaving the room.

How am I ever going to leave this stall? As nasty as it is, I wish it would swallow me whole, keep my life on pause.

What am I even going to say when I have to see him?

Should I ask him about all the times I asked to go with him on Sunday? All the times he said he needed to be alone.

Should I ask him why he had to cheat on Mom? While she was pregnant, at that.

Why he had to hide his other child? Man up, for God’s sake!

How could he live with himself?