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.

made these?” she breathed.

Mom nodded, pressing her fingers against her lips.
“She worked on them for weeks. Some days, she was too tired to sit up, but she kept asking for paper, markers, photos, anything she could use.”

I touched the bundle with my name on it.
The paper felt fragile beneath my fingers.

“Open yours first,” Leila said softly.

I looked at continue reading …