Life went on. I studied, worked, got married too young, got divorced, moved, got a promotion. From the outside, I looked like a normal adult woman with a stable, slightly boring life.
Inside me, my sister never left me.
Then, last year, everything changed.
I was on a short business trip in another city, nothing special. One evening, I stopped at a supermarket. I was tired, distracted, and headed for the cookie aisle.
That's when I saw her.
A little girl was standing there, carefully comparing two boxes of cookies. As she raised her arm, the sleeve of her jacket slipped back.
On her wrist she wore a thin, crooked red and blue bracelet.
I'm stuck.
When I was eight, I stole the red and blue yarn from the craft box and made two matching bracelets. One for me and one for Mia.
“So you won’t forget me,” I told her.
He was wearing it the day they took me away.
I approached the girl.
“It’s a beautiful bracelet,” I said.
“My mother gave it to me,” she replied proudly. “She said someone special made it.”
A woman approached us with a box of cereal.
I recognized her the moment I saw her.
His eyes. His walk. The way he raised his eyebrows as he read the labels.
The little girl ran to her.
“Mom, can we have the chocolate ones?”
I took a step forward before I lost control.
“Excuse me,” I said. “May I ask: did anyone give you that bracelet when you were a child?”
His face changed.
“Yes,” he said slowly.
“In an orphanage?” I whispered.
He paled.
“How do you know?”
“I made two like this,” I said. “One for me. One for my little sister.”
He looked at me.
“My sister’s name was Elena.”
“That’s my name,” I said.
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