Inside, my sister never left me.

Then, last year, everything changed.

I was on a short business trip to another city—nothing special. One evening, I stopped by a supermarket. I was tired, distracted, heading toward the cookie aisle.

That’s when I saw her.

A little girl stood there, carefully comparing two boxes of cookies. As she lifted her arm, her jacket sleeve slipped back.

On her wrist was a thin, crooked bracelet—red and blue.

I froze.

When I was eight, I had stolen red and blue yarn from the craft box and made two matching bracelets. One for me. One for Mia.

“So you won’t forget me,” I’d told her.

She wore it the day I was taken away.

I approached the girl.
“That’s a beautiful bracelet,” I said.

“My mom gave it to me,” she replied proudly. “She said someone special made it.”

A woman walked toward us with a box of cereal.

I knew her the moment I saw her.

Her eyes. Her walk. The way her brows tilted as she read labels.