"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I never met you. You were born years before me, and died within the hour. Or so, that’s what I’m told. I wasn’t there. There were three of you. Mom miscarried the first, then she had you, and then there was Andrew who also couldn’t survive.
Now, my mom has three children. Or rather, her second set of three. Except this time, we all survived. The doctors helped my mom, and she was able to carry all of us to term. I, like you, am the middle of three. I’m so grateful that I got to know my two living brothers. You didn’t ever meet Andrew, or your first brother, and they never got to meet you.
It’s weird thinking about what the world would be like if the three of you survived, if my mom hadn’t miscarried. You would be introduced as the middle child, not me. Would you also like Harry Potter and Star Wars? Would you dream about dragons, and imagine them flying through the night sky? Would you have played the bass as well, and rocked out in jazz band and the pit orchestra? Would you have loved puns? Would you hike mountains and paddle in the bay? Would you head out to Canada for grad school, intent on learning more about the world? Would you create a podcast to make up for never becoming an English major? Would you want to publish a book?
I think about how the trio would be different. My parents thought they had three boys, and then I came out as nonbinary. Are you okay of me thinking of you as a sister? You never had the time to explore your own identity? If I had known you, would you have gone shopping for clothes with me? Would you have taught me how to paint my nails instead of my friend?
I wish I could have known you. I can only imagine who you may have become.
I wrote about you in my book. Or rather, I named a character after you. She’s mysterious, and yet people seem to know her name. Helen. They know she was important, but they don’t know why. They know she was instrumental in making the fictional world I’m writing about, but they don’t know what she did. You’re a shadow in the book. I have plans for two more books, and I think I have a way for you to become even more important in the story. I wish you could have read it. Maybe a post-apocalyptic fantasy story wouldn’t have been your choice of book, but I’d like to think you’d at least support my writing endeavors.
I’ve only ever told two people about you. One is a person who hurt me a lot, and who is no longer welcome in my life. The other is a friend. I want to tell more people about you, about how amazing you would have been.
I only found out about you the summer before 12th grade. I know mom misses you. I think dad does too. I think I miss you. I don’t know if it’s possible to miss someone you’ve never met. I hope you’re well. There’s this Star Wars book where one of the main characters loses a twin while she was being born. So whenever she sees anything in life, good or bad, she touches her bracelet and says “look through my eyes.” She shows her twin the world through her experiences. I want to find a way to share the world with you too. I’ll keep thinking about it.