A knock on the bathroom door. I turned my head towards it, but ignored it, not wanting to move. My eyes roamed on the ceiling, counting the porous surface.
Another knock. A bit softer this time, tender, almost. I made a small guttural noise in the back of my throat which seemed to say, "speak."
"Johanna?" came a voice. It was familiar to me. My mother's.
"Yes, mama," I answered. I didn't want to hear anything she had to say, but I listened anyway.
"Johanna, can you come out here, please?"
"Mama, I was just about to take a shower."
"Please, Anna. I need to speak with you."
I sighed, resigned. Slowly I got up and threw on a towel, holding it with my left hand, opening the door with my right. My mother was standing in the doorway, a tearstained face too sad for imagining.
"Anna," she whispered. "Anna, your sister is dead."