6 YEARS AFTER ONE OF MY TWINS D:IED, MY DAUGHTER CAME HOME FROM HER FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL AND SAID: “PACK ONE MORE LUNCHBOX FOR MY SISTER.”

“What does she look like?” I asked, my voice not entirely steady.

“Like me,” Wren said. “Exactly like me. Except her hair’s parted the other way.”

Then her whole face lit up. “I took a picture!”

She handed me her small pink camera, the kind of cheap plastic toy that still somehow takes real photographs. I scrolled to the last image with hands that had started shaking.

Two girls stood together near a row of cubbies. Same height. Same eyes. Same small freckle beneath the left eye that Wren had carried since infancy.

Wren, and her exact copy.

I didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, I drove Wren to school myself instead of letting her take the bus, some instinct insisting I needed to see this for myself before I let myself fully believe it.