"I know you're not mad at me." Emma looked up, and her face crumpled and then straightened, the way it had when she was little and fell off her bike and was determined not to cry. "Why would you be mad at me? I'm not the one who—" She stopped.
"Who lied," Natalie said.
Emma said nothing. Her eyes were very bright.
"You can say it," Natalie said. "It's true."
"I have a sister." Emma said it like a question, testing whether the words would hold. "I have a sister and she's eighteen and her name is Claire. And her mom died. And you knew about her my whole life."
"Yes."