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So I knocked, fighting the rush of adrenaline and uncertainty. There was also a mild sense of excitement, another rarity.

I heard footsteps and held my breath.

When the woman opened the door, she narrowed her eyes.

At least at first.

“Jeffers.” What little happiness she experienced upon first seeing me quickly abated. She shook her head, hissing under her breath. “What the fuck are you doing here? Are you out? Have you finally returned, prepared to act like nothing happened? Like you didn’t just disappear?

I’d never seen my sister so angry, but she had every right to be. Although I’d established a secret, hefty bank account for her as I had with Carmella, that hadn’t made up for the two years since I’d all but vanished.

“No, I’m not out. Not yet. Soon.”

“Soon,” Maria spouted back at me. “Just go away, Jeffers. You’ve caused enough heartache.”

“Please let me in, Maria.” As soon as I glanced over my shoulder, she laughed bitterly.

“You are still on the job. I don’t recognize you any longer.”

I’d darkened my hair, shaved off my beard and mustache and had put on at least thirty pounds of muscle since she’d last seen me.

“Maybe I don’t recognize myself. Can I come in?”

She took two long strides away. “Suit yourself.”

I closed the door behind me, taking a few seconds to capture every inch of her living room. Maria had always lived frugally, but it was good to see she’d made a few changes, including purchasing newer furniture. There were pictures on the wall near the entrance to her kitchen, all of them tugging at my heartstrings.

“Do you know what it was like to pretend you were dead? To actually attend your funeral? That crushed me. And over these two years, the only way I could tolerate not knowing if you were alive was by pretending you were dead. Who does that?”

She was thoroughly exasperated.

“Someone who cares very much.”

“Cared, Jeffers. In the past. I couldn’t take it any longer, so I stopped bothering.” She wasn’t looking at me.

The awkward silence was something we’d never experienced before. We’d been close, so much so at times as kids we’d been inseparable. Now I had no idea what to say to her to make it right. As if that was even possible. “I’m sorry, Maria. You have no idea how much.”

“Then why?” She threw her head in my direction, fire in her eyes. “Why? Can you tell me that?”

“Because the agency needed me.”

“The agency. The fucking agency. What about your family? We needed you. We wanted you in our lives. Then you weren’t. I just…” She rubbed her eyes and a part of me knew this could backfire, but I was doing the right thing.

“I don’t how many times to say I’m sorry, Maria. I’m trying to get out, but right now, I need you to trust me.”

I’d told two women the same thing in a short timeframe and neither one had any reason to believe in anything I said or did.

“Trust you?” Maria muttered under her breath, looking away again. But I noticed the tears in her eyes. I would never forgive myself for what I’d put her through.

For what I’d put Jessica through.

“I know it’ll be tough, but I don’t have much time and I need you to listen to me.”

When I took a step closer, her reaction was as if I was planning on hurting her.

Or at minimum, as if she didn’t know me.

That was fine since I didn’t know myself.