Mrs. Mercer seemed to notice Emma’s anxiety and gave her a weak smile. “Honey, it’s okay. Your father and I have talked about this. I know everything. You’re not in trouble.”

Laurel looked sharply at her mother. “What are you talking about?” Her gaze shifted to Mr. Mercer. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on?”

An awkward silence descended on the room. Mrs. Mercer stared down at her lap, while Mr. Mercer adjusted his tie uncomfortably.

Emma swallowed hard, meeting Laurel’s eyes. “I finally met my birth mother.”

Laurel’s jaw fell open, her neck jutting forward in surprise. “What? That’s huge news!”

“That’s not all, though,” Mr. Mercer broke in. His mouth twisted downward unhappily. “Laurel, honey, the truth is, Sutton is our biological granddaughter.”

Laurel froze for a moment. Then she slowly shook her head, staring at her father. “I don’t understand. That’s impossible. How could she be your . . .”

“Her mom—Becky—is our daughter,” continued Mr. Mercer. “We had her when we were very young. Becky left home before you were even born, Laurel.”

“But . . . why wouldn’t you tell me something like that?” Angry pink spots appeared in Laurel’s cheeks. “This is insane.”

“Honey, I’m so sorry we never told you before.” Mr. Mercer’s voice had a pleading note to it. “We thought we were making the right decision. We wanted to protect you girls from our own mistakes.”

“She’s my sister!” Laurel snapped, her voice shrill. For a moment, Emma thought she was talking about Sutton—but then she realized Laurel was referring to Becky. “You kept my sister from me!”

Emma’s fingers clutched her dress, her knuckles pale from the force. After everything she’d been through, she was startled to find she was still afraid of a Class Five Laurel Tantrum. But she couldn’t blame Laurel for her reaction. Emma had spent so much time thinking of Becky as her missing mother that she’d almost forgotten Becky and Laurel were sisters. Laurel was right; it wasn’t fair that she’d never been given the chance to know her.

“Where is she? What’s she like?” Laurel demanded. Emma opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Mrs. Mercer spoke.

“Troubled.”

That one soft word seemed to fill the room. They all looked toward Mrs. Mercer, who was quietly crying, her hand pressed to her lips. The sight of her mother in distress seemed to derail Laurel’s anger. She bit her lip, and her eyes softened.