“Marissa is special,” I told her. Grandma studied me for a long moment. “So are you.”

“She wins things.”

“She makes more noise.” That was Grandma. A gentle voice with perfect aim.

After Marissa quit dancing as a teenager, my parents did not know how to build a family life without a stage. Marissa struggled. Mom called it recovery.

Dad bought exercise equipment that eventually became a coat rack. I went to college in Austin, met Andrew, and built a business. Distance changed my position in the family.

Marissa remained close. I became the daughter who left. When Mia was born, I promised myself I would never teach her that being quiet made her less important.