I Grew Up Believing My Sister Was Gone… Until I Found Her in a Café 68 Years Later

“Gone where?” I asked.

My father rubbed his forehead. “She died,” he said. “Ella died. That’s all you need to know.”

I didn’t see a body. I don’t remember a funeral. No small casket. No grave.

One day I had a twin. The next, I was alone.

Her toys disappeared. Our matching clothes vanished. Her name stopped existing in our house.