She shared stories about her childhood, and the children told her about Claire.
They showed her photographs, birthday videos, school artwork, and the recipes Claire used to make.
Matilda sometimes laughed exactly like her sister.
Whenever it happened, the room became still for a second.
But over time, the sound stopped feeling like a wound.
It became a reminder that love can leave echoes in unexpected places.
Matilda was not Claire.
She could never replace her.
But she carried pieces of Claire in her expressions, her gestures, and even the way she brushed hair from her forehead when she was nervous.
And the children gave Matilda something too.
Through them, she finally met the sister she had spent most of her life searching for.
The world accepted Claire’s death ten years ago.
Most days, I have accepted it too.
I no longer expect her to walk through the door.
