Six Years After One of My Twin Daughters Died, My Second One Came from Her First Day at School, Saying: ‘Pack One More Lunchbox for My Sister’

I didn’t know what to do with her grief. But it did nothing to excuse what she’d done.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The sounds of the schoolyard faded, and all I could see was the last six years:

Junie’s second birthday, me, in the kitchen late at night, icing one cake and then freezing, hand trembling as I remembered there was supposed to be two.

Or Junie at four, sleeping with her cheek against the pillow, sunlight in her curls, Michael already gone, and me standing over her, asking the dark, “Do you dream about your sister, too?”

I didn’t know what to do with her grief.

A teacher’s voice snapped me back. “Is everything alright here?”

Parents had started staring. Even the front-office secretary had stepped outside.

I straightened. “No. And I want the principal here right now.”

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