Rose's POV:

I've always known I was different. Call it intuition or sense, but even before I took biology I knew there was no way I was related to my parents.

While I have hair that burns like fire, they have hair that shines like gold. Some may argue that I just have a recessive trait for red hair. That may be the case, but how do they explain my eyes? He has emerald green eyes. She has azure blue eyes. You can argue all you like but blue and green are recessive, whereas I have the dominant golden-brown. Therefore, I cannot in any way be related to them or my "siblings."

My brother has corn-yellow hair like our-no, his father and dark teal eyes. Our-no, his little sister has pale gold hair that drapes in waves down her shoulders and lighter teal eyes. If I am their sibling, why do I look so different? I wish I was their sister. I love them deeply. After all, I did grow up with them. I know everything about them and they know everything about me. Or at least, they think they do. I don't suppose if "Mom" and "Dad" didn't tell me, they haven't told Phil or little Cecile either.

I pull on my favorite pale green dress with little red roses decorating the bottom. I love this dress. It reminds me of Christmas and spring at the same time. I braid my hair down my back and make my way to my vanity mirror. I stare at my red-haired, golden-eyed, freckled reflection and wonder why didn't I see it sooner? It's so obvious. I think, as I head downstairs to meet my golden-haired family for breakfast. I am NOT a Shortman…

The Shortman Residence- Third-person POV:

Helga G. Shortman stood in her small kitchen. She was busy humming and making breakfast for her family. She turned to the sound of light footsteps on the hardwood floor behind her. Rose, her second child and eldest daughter came into the kitchen fully dressed. Her backpack slung over her shoulder.

Helga smiled, "Good morning, sweetie! Hungry?"

"Always!" Rose took a spot at the table and sat her backpack beside her. "What's for breakfast?"

Helga turned back to the stove, "Eggs, pancakes and sausages."

"Yum!" Rose beamed.

Helga smirked, her mother would never stand for eating meat! Helga jumped as she realized what she had thought. It was true, Rose technically wasn't her daughter, but… she may as well be! Helga looked back at her adopted daughter. Her beautiful red hair pulled back into a neat little braid, freckles decorating her ivory face, her warm honey-colored eyes... I wonder if she's figured it out yet. She probably has, she's really smart and it doesn't take a genius to see- Helga shuddered and turned around to see her eggs had started to burn. Damn! Oh well, I guess this one's mine. It wasn't as if Helga and her husband hadn't discussed the possibility that one day she might ask questions. I'm not ready! She's still too young, she's still my baby! A voice that sounded a lot like her husband nagged at her, "You have to tell her sometime." Please just let her not ask today! Helga begged to the voice as if it could answer her prayer.

Rose drummed her fingers along the table. She snuck a glance at Helga and noticed her deep in thought. She also noticed a funny smell and dark grey smoke coming from the pan. "MOM!" She yelled.

"Huh?" Helga gasped as she noticed the smoke in front of her. "Rose, get the trash bin!"

Rose scrambled up, raced to the sink and opened the cupboard underneath. She snatched the grey trash bin and carried it to Helga's side. Helga grabbed the pan and dumped the ash-covered eggs into it. As soon as the task was done, both mother and daughter sighed.

"Thank goodness!" Helga breathed, "And thanks Rose. If it weren't for you, this place would've been up in smoke!"

"No…problem!" Rose panted, "What were you so interested in that you lost your focus, Mom?"

"What?! Uh…nothing! I-I mean I was just thinking about what my next book should be about." Helga stammered quickly. She smiled wryly, "I suppose I should discount cook books, huh?"

Rose blinked, as if she didn't buy her mother's lame excuse. Then she laughed, "Yeah, I suppose so!"

Helga smiled, "Can get your brother and sister down here? You guys are gonna be late and I have some eggs to remake."

Rose gave Helga a devilish grin, "You sure you won't burn down the house while I'm gone?"

Helga chuckled and gave Rose a light smack on the shoulder, "Go on, you! I'll be fine."

Rose grinned even wider and raced upstairs to find her siblings. Helga went to the refrigerator, grabbed some eggs and headed back to the stove. She was determined to make some eggs despite her worry. At least she still calls me, "Mom," but how long will it last?

A few minutes later, the rest of the Shortman clan sat at the breakfast table. Phil in his orange and red sweat shirt was lazily stuffing pancakes down his throat. His dark gold hair was slightly messy. His dark teal blue eyes held a tired look to them. He was not a morning person.

Cecile on the other hand, bounced about in her chair. Her flowing pale gold hair brushed to perfection. Her light teal eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. She may have been three years younger than her siblings, but at age six she was already showing the marks of a genius. She was already well versed in science, the fine arts, math, and could already speak French and English perfectly. She was currently working on Spanish and took every opportunity to spout phrases, even if no one could understand her. She beamed, "Gran panqueques, Mama! Muy deliciouso."

Helga smiled, "Gracias hija!"

Phil looked bored while Rose scrutinized the pair closely. Despite what was obvious to her, she wanted so badly to be a part of the family. But as she looked at the similarities between Helga and Cecile, it became clear that she had no such qualities. Both had shimmering pale golden hair that draped over their shoulders. Helga's eyes were a dark azure blue which leant to Phil's dark teal eyes. Helga and Cecile shared a light pink skin tone as well. Cecile had her father's nose. What do I have? Flame-red hair, gold-brown eyes, and ivory skin covered in freckles. I am not one of them… Rose sighed and Phil looked up from his pancakes.

Phil was the oldest and the only boy. He felt protective of his sisters. He knew Rose was different. They had no physical similarities. He was also perfectly aware that there was no way she was his biological sister. She was born three months after he was and while he didn't know much about biology, he was pretty sure that that was an impossibility. Still, Rose was his little sister and one of his closest friends. Her strange behavior alerted him to the fact that something was wrong.

"Psst! You ok?" He whispered across the table.

Rose jumped, "Huh? Oh. Oh yeah, I'm fine, thanks." She mumbled.

He gave her a disbelieving stare and mouthed, "What's wrong?"

Rose gritted her teeth, "Nothing!" she hissed back. Then she turned away and proceeded to eat her breakfast.

Phil moaned and rolled his eyes. Why are girls so difficult? I will find out what's wrong. She's my sister. I have to help…somehow.

Their spat hadn't gone unnoticed. Arnold stared across the table at his older children. He hadn't seen them argue so much and it worried him. Lately he had shared his wife's fear that Rose may figure out the truth and demand answers. What would I say? That once upon a time her mother was mine and Helga's friend. That when I was younger, I had a crush on her? That she just left Hillwood for five years and then showed up at our doorstep, eight months pregnant begging for help? That she had died after childbirth and asked us to take care of her daughter? That we have no idea who her father is or where he might be?

Arnold sighed. Tonight, he and Helga would have to discuss the issue and decide whether they should tell her. Tell her that she is a Sawyer