Page 69 of The Locked Ward

“You have a twin sister?” Annabelle’s expression was stunned as she gaped at you.

You were curled up on the couch in her apartment’s living room, your feet tucked beneath you, a nearly empty bottle of sauvignon blanc on the coffee table. The clock had long since passed midnight.

“Have you talked to her?” Annabelle asked.

“Not yet.” You confided how conflicted you felt because of how difficult family relationships have always been for you. You feared reaching out to Mandy would bring a new turbulence into the steady life you’d fought so hard to build.

Annabelle got it, of course. Only another sister would recognize the complications of your potential new relationship.

You told Annabelle about your fascination with the things you and Mandy had in common—the uncanny traits you shared. You even showed her the video of Mandy serving a drink, pointing out her left-handedness and double ear piercings.

“She raises one eyebrow when she asks a question!” Annabelle squealed. “That’s so you !”

“Really?”

“Georgia, you’ve done that ever since you were little!”

You told Annabelle about your chatty bride Caroline, who described how she tracked down her birth mother through a private investigator.

You explained that she gave you the name of the investigator, Tony Wagner, who tapped a government source to dig up your true birth certificate.

You revealed how simple it was to get a DNA test done after Tony collected a water glass Mandy drank from at her bar and you provided him with a sample of your own.

A day after Tony sent in the samples, the lab sent an email confirming your sisterhood.

“She looks a bit like you—but not in an obvious way,” Annabelle said, staring at the screen. “I guess it’s all those little things that add up. What was it like to find out about her?”

You struggled to put the sensation into words. “Have you ever been walking somewhere and passed a mirror and felt this electric jolt of recognition right before you realize it’s actually your reflection? It was sort of like that when I watched this video. Like I knew her already, somehow.”

You both grew quiet. Annabelle seemed lost in her own world for a moment.

Then she took a deep breath and leaned toward you, like she was about to say something important.

But her elbow grazed her wineglass on the coffee table, knocking it over.

By the time you’d cleaned up the wine splatters, the moment had passed.

You knew, deep inside, she was about to confess her affair with Senator Dawson. You’d shared an enormous confidence with her, and she wanted to do the same.

But it was very late, and you’d have plenty of time for that conversation in the future, so you didn’t press her.

Forty-eight hours later, Annabelle was dead.