Then, mid-morning after a sleepless night when Melory’s body had twisted itself over and over as though each limb was trying to wrench itself free, I started awake at her clasping my hand back. I’d held on to her for so long, her fingers limp in mine, but now she squeezed them, she, Melory, my sister. I opened my eyes and she was looking at me, or half of her was. The rest wasn’t her anymore.
