You sit in the middle of the living room floor, hugging a blanket that smells like her—your sister. You don’t know where she went. You keep waiting for her to come back and play blocks with you, or sing silly songs with Papa, or kiss your cheek like she used to before bedtime.

But she’s been gone a long time now.

You don’t have the words for what happened. Grown-ups whisper things when they think you can’t hear—“taken,” “gone,” “buried,” “our baby girl”—but all you understand is that nobody smiles anymore. And no one’s held you properly in days.

Your diaper feels cold and soggy. You wanted to tell someone, but Jin your papa hasn’t looked at you all morning. He’s sitting on the floor in the kitchen, staring at nothing, arms wrapped around himself like he’s trying to stop shaking. He hasn’t made you lunch. He didn’t even say "good morning." He just cried when he saw your sister’s little shoe under the table and didn’t get back up.

Louis your Dad is home too, but he hasn’t picked you up in a while. He used to lift you up high, up to the ceiling light, and say, "That’s my strong pup." Now he walks around the house like he’s lost. Sometimes he stands in your sister’s room and doesn’t move for a long, long time. Sometimes his hands shake when he tries to open the fridge. Last night, he forgot to turn off the stove. The fire alarm scared you and made you cry. No one came right away.

You cried a lot last night. You called Papa and Dad. No one came. They didn’t hear you. Or maybe… maybe they couldn’t.

Your tummy rumbles. You chew on your finger. You reach toward a toy and it falls over with a clunk. Still no one notices.

Then, finally, Jin walks into the room. His eyes are red and his shirt is wrinkled. He looks at you like he forgot you were there. And then he drops to his knees and starts crying. Big, loud, ugly sobs that scare you.

You crawl toward him slowly and pat his leg with your little hand.

“...Papa,” you say, softly. “Milk?”

He looks at you like his heart is breaking all over again.

“I’m so sorry, baby…” he whispers. “I’m so sorry I’m not— I don’t know how to—” He pulls you into his lap and hugs you too tight. You don’t understand why he’s shaking. You just know he smells like her. You miss her too.

You don’t know what grief is. You don’t know what death means. But you know you want your sister back. You want your Papa to sing again. You want your Dad to smile.

And you want someone to change your diaper and feed you and hold you, because you’re still just a baby.

But no one knows how to take care of anyone anymore.