But even though I stood right next to her, hers was the only reflection in the three-way mirror at the end of the closet.Įver since I died, I’d been invisible. She has my exact chestnut hair and long legs, the same marine-blue eyes lined by dark lashes. Next to me in the narrow space, my twin sister, Emma Paxton, ran her fingers through the rich fabrics of my clothes, her heart clenched in a knot of grief.
For me, it was just another reminder that heaven was exactly where I wasn’t. Luxurious clothes in every color of the rainbow hung in careful rows: blouses and skirts in silk, cashmere, cotton.įor most girls, this closet would be heaven. Shelves and cubbies lined the walls, filled with designer purses and jewelry and dozens of shoes. A thick pink rug lay on the hardwood floor, perfect for bare toes first thing in the morning.
The walk-in closet would be any girl’s dream.
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