Blue. I looked into my sister’s deep blue eyes. They were such a piercing blue that they drew people to her. They were the only part of her complexion not made empty and shallow from her addiction. Silence filled the room and I looked to the matching pair of blue eyes sitting quietly in her lap. Her daughter’s two-year-old eyes were almost identical to hers. However, as I looked at the scene of mother and daughter, my sister made no maternal motion toward the little one. Her arms hung limply and her sides and the little girl sat awkwardly on her lap, wondering where her mother had gone. At that moment I let go of my sister’s withering hand that I had been holding gingerly and whispered, “I’m sorry.” into her vacant expression. I lifted the baby from her lap and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I walked away from the shadow of my sister; the little blue eyes staring back at her brought no reaction from her empty eyes. I left her house for the last time, taking my sister’s little blue eyes with me.