The original version of this story appeared in Quanta Magazine.
When Todd Sacktor was about to turn 3, his 4-year-old sister died of leukemia. “An empty bedroom next to mine. A swing set with two seats instead of one,” he said, recalling the lingering traces of her presence in the house. “There was this missing person—never spoken of—for which I had only one memory.” That memory, faint but enduring, was set in the downstairs den of their home. A young Sacktor asked his sister to read him a book, and she brushed him off: “Go ask your mother.” Sacktor glumly trudged up the stairs
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