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.

table.

It was simple, dark wood, worn at the corners like it had been hidden and handled over many years.
My stomach tightened before I understood why.

On top of it was a yellowed envelope with handwriting I recognized instantly, even after ten years.

“OPEN ON OUR 21ST BIRTHDAY.”

My breath caught.

Leila’s fork slipped from her hand and clattered against continue reading …