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.

like she had been crowned queen of the nursery.
“That means I decide.”

Leila hated that.

“Seven minutes doesn’t count,” she would snap.

“It does if you were late,” Nora would reply, grinning.

I usually laughed first.
Leila usually threw a pillow.

That was how most of our childhood sounded before everything changed.
Laughter.
Arguing.
Someone running down the continue reading …