I put my hand on the stroller, and I don’t look down until I’m away from my new sister’s mother. This moment is for sisters only.

I look down. There, nestled in a sea of pale green blankets, is Pearl. As if she knows I’m here, she opens her eyes and gives me a gummy grin.

Good morning, Earth.

“Do you want to hear something cool?” I whisper to her. “There is stardust raining down on us RIGHT NOW. And you’re made of stars. And named after one. When you’re a little bit older, I’ll show it to you. Then you can always find your way in the sky.”

She giggles and kicks her hands and feet.

I beam. “That is EXACTLY how I reacted when I learned that stuff, too. We’re obviously related.”

Nah stands as we reach her, and when my sister looks inside the stroller, she stares and stares, her face turning Karalis red, like it always does whenever she feels anything intensely.

“Do you think…” She swallows. “Do you think I can hold her?”

“Of course you can,” I say. “She’s our sister.”

Nah takes a breath. Reaches inside. Lifts Pearl out of the stroller.

“Hello,” Nah breathes.

Pearl reaches up with her little dimpled hand and rests it on Nah’s cheek. They stare at each other for a long, long time.

Nah leans down and brushes her lips against Pearl’s forehead. “Thank you,” she whispers to her.

I reach out and brush my fingers across Pearl’s dark hair. She has Dad’s eyes. I am so sad that my father doesn’t get to meet his daughter. That she doesn’t get to meet him.

The anger I’d been holding inside me against my dad melts away. I guess babies do that. They melt things.

Pearl is giving us back our dad. Bringing him back to life. I can feel him, can almost hear his soft laughter.

I turn to Nah. “We have to let it go. For her sake. And his.”

There is nothing more to say to Rebecca about what happened. And there is nothing we can do to change the past. My dad was a good dad. The best. And there is only now. Only love.

“Okay.”

“And. When Pearl’s old enough, we should eat it. The three of us. Don’t you think?”

Hannah knows what I mean. The last of Dad’s egg bake. Uncle Tony had had it specially frozen so we could take it across the country. We thought it was the last thing he made. But it wasn’t. The last thing he made is lying in my sister’s arms.

It’s time. To let him go. Wherever he is.

Hannah’s face turns splotchier. I don’t think that is a word, but it’s what happens on her skin.