Jo lay there hooked up to the IV, pale and lifeless. Her room was littered with cards saying Get better soon and We miss you. Her once shiny hair hung limp at her sides.

This wasn’t living. This girl, the one in the hospital bed, was not the one I’d known since middle school. My Jo was always moving; this still twin couldn’t possibly be her.

Everybody was rooting for her to wake up. Just come back to us, they said. Sentencing her to a life of being watched over and worried about. A half-life, at best. Jo would hate that. I took her hand in mine and closed my eyes.

Even today, I don’t know if I imagined what happened or not. But for a split second, I swear her eyes fluttered open and focused right on mine. Oh my god, she seemed to say. I’m dying. And everything was moving in slow motion. Everything was crystal-clear.

It’s okay, I thought. I didn’t trust my voice. You don’t have to hold on anymore. They’ll forgive you. Let go.

She did.