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.

children fight about because they don’t understand yet how much they’ll miss the noise one day.

“She had it yesterday,” Leila would protest.

“And you’ll have it tomorrow,” Nora would say, handing me the doll or the sweater or whatever tiny treasure had started the war.
“Gia gets it today.”

“You always take her side.”

“I take the side of peace,” Nora would continue reading …