“Is that supposed to be me?” he asked, touching it.

“Yes, son.” “But it says I’m dead.” “The people who made this,” I told him, “were completely wrong.” He was quiet a moment.

“Does that mean this name can still belong to me?” “It was always your name,” I said, and had to fight to keep my voice level.

“But if you’d rather choose a brand-new one, we can do that together, any name you want.” He thought about it a long while.

Then he pointed at a small angel carved in the corner of the stone.