“What do you think she wished for that day?” Swallowing, I think back to Emma’s birthday entry written a month before all of her wishes were snuffed out forever. There’s no way to know the answer to that, of course, but if I know anything about my sister, it’s this: She never wished for herself. The people she loved came first, always. “I’m not sure,” I admit, stroking her hair, looking off into the setting sun. “But…I like to think it came true.” “Yeah,” she smiles against me. “Me, too.”
