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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.

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I forced myself to continue.

“I know birthdays might be hard. I know there will be one chair missing. But I want you to eat cake. I want you to laugh. I want you to fight over stupid things sometimes and make up after, because I would give anything to hear you both argue again.”

My voice broke on the next line.

“So here is my rule: On every birthday from continue reading …

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