I went upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom with my notebook.

I had to think. Pappou was right. Not that I’d been sent by God or the angels, but that my family meant everything to me. It meant everything to all of us.

I picked up my pen and started writing.

Our families need each other in a million huge, tiny, and silly ways. When I hid the necklace and told the lie, it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I did.

I cared about my mom and how hurt she would be.

I cared about Anastasia coming between Eleni and me.

And I cared that the necklace wouldn’t be handed down to who it was meant to be handed down to, and it would interfere with the cosmic order of the world (or something).

But all I’ve done is mess everything up.

I cried into the shower curtain for a while. For the record, shower curtains are not good to cry into. I had no idea how to make it better. I needed help. Preferably from God, but I’d already asked Him and He hadn’t answered.

Maybe, I thought, wiping my nose on a tissue instead (which, for the record, is much more absorbent—but you probably knew that), maybe I was asking the wrong person.

I crept out of the bathroom and slipped into Pappou and Yiayia’s room. The clock on the wall was ticking, and a car alarm went off outside, which made me nervous, like time was running out and an emergency was happening at the same time.

I needed to talk to Yiayia. She wasn’t there, obviously, even though it felt like she was, so I quietly opened the closet door and stood there for a moment looking at her clothes. After a while, I picked up one of her cardigans and held it to my nose. Yiayia’s goodness and loveliness flooded over me and I felt ashamed.

I remembered how it was when she was alive, how warm and close and happy we all were. And I remembered her. How her face creased into a hundred ridges when she smiled and how the skin on her hands was as thin as paper. I remembered her laugh, and the way she danced at parties, and how she never said a bad word about anyone. She’d taught us to be kind and honest and good. And I’d failed her.

I whispered, “Yiayia, I’m sorry. Please help me. Tell me what to do.”

I knew her answer would be, “Tellllll theeeemmm yoooou haaaave the neeeecccccklaaaaaace.”

So I whispered, “Anything but that. They’ll be angrier than the angriest they’ve ever been. Ever. Ever. Ever.”

Yiayia said, “Therrrreee issss no ooootherrrrr solllutioooon.”

“They wiiiillll kiiilllll meeeeee,” I replied. “And ittttt woooonnnnn’t heeeellllpppppp annnyywaaayyyy.”

“Doooo iiiittttt,” she said.

I sighed and stared at the ceiling for ages.

“Ooookkkkkkk, I wiiiilllllll,” I said eventually. “I’ll doooo iiitttttt.”

I kissed her cardigan, put it back, and closed the closet doors.

She was right.

I had to do it. And I had to do it now.

I went downstairs to tell Pappou everything, but halfway down I could hear him on the phone talking in Greek.

As soon as I walked in the room, I knew something was wrong.

“Oy oy oy. And what did the doctors say? Tssshhh. Tsssh.” He looked at me and his eyes told me everything. “They’re going to operate? When? We’ll come right now.”

I froze. “Pappou?”

He said, “It’s Eleni-mou.”