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I really only remember one thing about my dad. He worked a lot, and he wasn’t home very often, but when he came home, he would often bring us surprises. And then he’d say, “Guess what?”

He’d be smiling so big that it almost split his face in two. We’d jump up and down and clap. Then he’d give us something. It might be a thin plastic fortune-telling fish that curled into different poses—and each one meant something else. It might be a peppermint. It might be a slice of cake.

It was never the same.

But most of the time, after offering us this treat, he’d say, “Alright. You’ve gotten something fun from Papa. Now. Do you want to go double or nothing?”

If we said yes, sometimes we got a kiss in return. He’d take our surprise and then laugh about it. We’d cry and whine, but he told us that a kiss from him was the most amazing thing we could get. Once he was gone, I realized that was true, but at the time, it made me sad.

The other half of the time, we’d get something even better. Once, I got a carved wooden bowl. Another time, I got a butterfly made of beautiful blue stone. Once, I got an entire cake.

Mom made me share it, which ticked me off royally.

But even after Mirdza and Mom and Dad each had a piece, I got to gorge myself on as much cake as I could eat in one go. Needless to say, I always chose to go double or nothing. I hadn’t done anything to get the treat in the first place, so I always wanted to turn it into something more.

My sister never did it, not once. Mirdza’s not a gambler.

It’s just not who she is.

So when Alexei tells her the truth, that he’s not sure whether it’ll work, that he’d have to remove the metal—which sounds absolutely awful—I already know what she’s going to say. I know Mirdza will do the safe thing. She’ll just keep hobbling around, in pain and miserable, because she might wind up worse off than she is if she risks it.

The status quo is the safe play.

It’s what she knows.

She’s opening her mouth to say she’ll just live with her leg the way it is when I leap in front of her and grab her hand.

“Just this once,” I plead. “For one time in your life, please, please, please, take a risk.”

I know I’m being selfish. I know I’m asking her because of my guilt, but I can’t help it. I need her to get better. I need to see a miracle for her, so that I can sleep better at night. It’s greedy of me.

I was already saved once this week.

I shouldn’t demand more, and especially not from someone who never, ever takes risks like this. But I am who I am.

And she is who she is.

Which is why I know what she’ll say before she says it.

“A, I can’t.” Her eyes well with tears.

I squeeze her hand, unwilling to take the loss just yet. “You can. I’m right here. You can do it, just like when you went back that day when you stood up for Mom. Don’t do it for yourself, because you don’t take risks for yourself. Instead, do it for me.” I’m crying now, like a big idiot.

She shakes her head.

“I was there.” The words feel ripped out of me.

“What?” She blinks.

“I was there,” I confess. It’s like something inside me is breaking. “I heard him beating Mom. I heard you go inside. I should’ve followed you. Maybe with both of us there—” My voice cracks.

Mirdza leans forward and pulls me against her chest, hugging me. “I’m glad you didn’t come in. If I could go back in time, I’d tell you to do just what you did.”

Because she’s bravery and sacrifice to my cowardice and regret.

“Please try,” I beg. “I still have nightmares.”