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."

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