It was springtime a year ago, and she and Elisabeth and Spatz were playing outdoors, loose hair dancing on the breeze, sun pinking their noses. They’d run all the way down to the river, and Helene announced that she was going to cross the water on a newly fallen tree. They’d never been to the far bank, and Spatz wanted to see if there were fairies living there.

“Let’s see then,” Helene said, balancing on the trunk five feet above the water, rubbing the soles of her bare feet on its rough bark and dancing across. She wasn’t always the sister with the right thing to say, but she was the graceful one.

Spatz went next, scooting over on her hands and knees, too afraid to stand. And that was probably for the best: the rains had left the river rushing cold and wild and fast below them.

“My turn!” Sisi announced, balancing on the trunk with arms outstretched like a tightrope walker.

Helene laughed at her younger sister’s antics, but the laughter died quickly in her throat.

She knew the moment before it happened that Sisi was going to fall. Helene could even feel her arm reaching out of its own volition, futile with her sister still so far from the bank.

Sisi’s eyes went wide, her body tilted, and she went into the river. The river that had only been a little scary only moments before now sucked Helene’s sister straight down.

Helene heard herself scream. Spatz pressed a tiny hand against her mouth, eyes wide.

“Stay here!” Helene shouted at Spatz, taking off down the riverbank, following the dark outline of Sisi under the surface, rushing so fast downstream.

Sisi surfaced once, sputtering, coughing, before going under again, her skirts swirling around her like a jellyfish. How long could a person hold their breath? Helene didn’t know the answer.

Helene ran like the world was on fire, racing toward the bridge, rocks and sticks tearing into the bottom of her feet. If she could get there in time, she could reach down and grab Sisi’s dress.

But when she neared the bridge, a man was already standing there, reaching down to haul Sisi out of the water by her hair.

By the time Helene got there, Sisi was vomiting water, coughing, crying.

It was Helene’s fault. She’d suspected it then, and Mother made sure she knew it later. She was the oldest. She was the one who was supposed to be making adult decisions. She was twenty, for God’s sake, and acting twelve. She’d almost killed her sister—looking for fairies, no less—and the guilt of it was heavy and sharp, even months later. It lived on in her gut and her headaches and the perpetual tightness across her skin.