Her mother, a Korean-American jeweler, chose Sofia for wisdom. Her father, a Singaporean historian, chose Lee for the plum tree—resilience in early spring. And Sapphire ? That was her grandmother’s doing, after the stone that glowed like a deep winter sky just before dawn.
“Hold it,” her grandmother said.
“You’re not one thing, Sofia,” her grandmother used to say, tapping the girl’s chest. “You’re a whole constellation.”
The door was already open.
“It’s dead.”
“Hold it anyway.”
She was on her way to her grandmother’s apartment, the one that smelled of ginseng and old paper. The call had come three days ago: Come home. There’s something only you can fix.