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.

hallway.

Mom yelling that if one more crayon ended up on the wall, she was going to lose her mind.
Dad, back when he was still around more often than not, pretending to be stern while secretly smiling into his coffee.

Nora was the one who stood between us when Leila and I fought over toys, over clothes, over who got the window seat, and over stupid things continue reading …