Our triplet sister died when we were eleven—until a box arrived on our 21st birthday that revealed she might not have been gone at all.

would not sit still.
She kept picking at the sleeve of her sweater until Mom gently took her hand.

“Stop that, sweetheart.”

“What’s wrong with Nora?” Leila asked.

Mom looked toward the door, like an answer might walk in and save her.

“She’s just very tired.”

Nora, lying in bed with tubes taped to her arm, rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a baby, Mom.”

Mom’s lips continue reading …