In the weeks that followed, I went numb, on the deepest level — just numb. No more tears, no more feelings, just nothing. And then, just a little over a month later, in August, my dad called. More news to deal with: He and his wife were on their way to visit a little girl who was in foster care and in need of a nice family to adopt her. To be honest, I didn’t think too much of it at the time, given how difficult it is to adopt a child. But to my complete shock, this time, the adoption process moved at the speed of light: Two weeks later, my dad had a new daughter — and I had a little sister.

Not that I wanted one. My whole life, I had been the only girl in the family, and the youngest child. Now, that was over, too. The imaginary Novocaine I had so generously applied after Bobby’s death to stop from feeling was beginning to wear off, and I desperately wanted it back. I cried alone in the bathroom for hours. As it happened, I was visiting my father on the East Coast during the week that the adoption was finalized. Over dinner one night, I tried to be diplomatic and say some bullshit line about how I was really happy for them and the little girl…but I couldn’t manage it. Soon, my true feelings came out: I asked my dad how he could even begin to talk to me about gaining a new sibling when I had just lost one — how could he be so callous?

I didn’t feel bad about what I said. If anything, I felt relieved. I was both disgusted and disappointed by what my dad and stepmom had done. But at the same time, I knew what they had been through to make this happen. They didn’t plan for it to work at this particular moment. Yeah, it wasn’t great timing, but it was now or never, and they had jumped on the chance. They weren't being insensitive; they were being brave.

And then, a weird thing happened. Within the course of a week, my feelings evolved — rapidly, and before I'd even met my new sister. It was as if my brain suddenly allowed my heart to see her for who she was, not what she represented at that particular moment — the worst moment — of my life. I learned more about her. She was a little girl with light-brown hair, a huge personality, and a love of Taylor Swift that rivals even mine. For the first seven years of her life, she had never known or experienced family like I had.

My sister’s story is not mine to tell, so I won’t. But I will say this: If anybody deserved a second chance at life, it was her.