When my little sister disappeared in the woods, I knew it was my fault. When her body was found, my grief was complicated by a mix of guilt and shame. A deep sadness that didn’t even allow me to cry. And I knew that’s why she was haunting me. I deserved it. I would wake in the night and see her there, huddled beside me on the bed. “I’m scared Sarah. It’s so dark.” Just long enough for me to see her tear-stained face shining in the night light I had started using. Then she was gone. She was only five, and she would be five forever.