“Chloe, didn’t know you and Ethan were into this kind of thing. That new themed hotel downtown? Wild.” The photograph beneath my best friend’s message made the blood drain from my face. Ethan was walking out of the hotel lobby with a woman wrapped around his arm, her head resting against his shoulder, his hand settled at the small of her back with the easy familiarity of a man who knew exactly who he was touching.
Chapter 2
Clara lived in the same fourth-floor walk-up where we had spent most of our teenage years. The stairwell still smelled like damp concrete, cabbage, and old cardboard stored beside the basement door.
Through her apartment door, I heard a wooden spoon tapping against a cast-iron pot.
It was the sound of our childhood.
I entered without knocking.
“You’re late,” Clara called from the stove. “Take off your shoes. The floor’s freezing.”
She wore an oversized gray sweatshirt and thick socks worn thin at the heels.
For one terrible moment, she looked exactly as she always had.
Then I saw the drying rack.
My emerald dress hung from a plastic hanger.
Beside the sink lay the silver pendant Ethan had given me.
I removed my shoes carefully and sat at the small kitchen table.
Clara turned.
Her eyes flickered toward my face, searching.
“You look exhausted.”
“So do you.”
She forced a smile.
“I’ve always looked terrible.”
She filled my bowl with beef, carrots, potatoes, and dark broth. As she had when we were children, she selected the biggest pieces of meat for me.
“Eat.”
“Aren’t you having any?”
“I ate while cooking.”
The old lie.
When we were poor, “I ate while cooking” meant there had not been enough for two bowls.
Now I knew she had eaten dinner with Ethan the night before.
I lifted a spoonful.
The meat fell apart instantly.
“Soft enough?” she asked.
“It’s perfect.”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“Good.”
Rain tapped against the windows.
After several minutes, Clara said, “You work too hard. You should rely on Ethan more.”
His name landed between us.
I put down the spoon.
“You think Ethan takes good care of me?”
“Of course.”
“You barely know him.”
She looked away.
“I’ve met him.”
“Three or four times.”
“You can tell things about people.”
“Can you?”
Clara’s fingers began picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.
“He looks at you like you’re everything.”
I held her gaze.
“Sometimes I wonder whether he looks at me or at someone who has my face.”
The color vanished from hers.
“What does that mean?”
Before I could answer, a phone vibrated behind her.
Not Clara’s regular phone.
An old black Android rested beside the kettle.
A message preview flashed across the screen.
Chloe just ended things. Did you tell her? Clara, answer me.
Neither of us moved.
Then I reached across the counter.
Clara lunged.
“Don’t.”
I answered and put the call on speaker.
Ethan’s voice exploded into the kitchen.
“Clara? Thank God. Did you talk to her? She texted me that we’re done. Her phone’s off. I’m outside our apartment and she’s gone.”
Clara pressed both hands against the counter.
I picked up my spoon and took another bite.
“Say something,” Ethan demanded. “If she knows, we can explain. Tell her you were lonely. Tell her it got confusing because you’re twins.”
My sister shut her eyes.
Then Ethan said the thing that destroyed any remaining doubt.
“Chloe always forgives you. She’s gentle. She isn’t like you.”
A dry laugh escaped me.
Silence.
“Clara?” Ethan whispered. “Who was that?”
I leaned toward the phone.
“It’s me.”
His breath caught.
“The gentle one.”
“Chloe—”
“The stew is excellent tonight. Clara remembered exactly how I like it.”
“Listen to me.”
“She’s always been thoughtful.”
“Where are you?”
“At Clara’s.”
“I’m coming.”
“Don’t waste the gas.”
I ended the call.
Clara stood perfectly still.
“When?” she whispered.
“Last night.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“A friend photographed you leaving the hotel.”
She covered her mouth.
“I thought maybe Ethan was too stupid to notice the difference,” I continued. “Then I found your posts.”
Her head snapped up.
“You found—”
“All of them.”
She began crying.
“Chloe, I swear I never planned this.”
“What did you plan?”
“I don’t know.”
“To borrow my clothes? My jewelry? My boyfriend?”
She flinched.
“It started three months ago.”
“I know.”
“He came to my office delivering documents for his firm.”
Her voice shook.
“We hadn’t seen each other since high school.”
I remained silent.
Clara slowly sank to the floor.
“He asked why I left him.”
I felt my heartbeat change.
“He was your boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew.”
Her face collapsed.
“I knew why he pursued you.”
The room tilted slightly.
Clara wiped her cheeks with both hands.
“When he met you in college, you looked exactly like the girl who had disappeared from his life.”
I remembered Ethan approaching me at a freshman mixer.
The way he stared.
The way he said, “I feel like I know you.”
I had thought it was a line.
“He told me he couldn’t believe you existed,” Clara continued. “He said seeing you felt like getting me back.”
My stomach tightened.
“And you decided that justified sleeping with him?”
“No.”
“Then what did?”
Clara’s grief changed shape.
Anger rose through it.
“I gave everything up for you.”
I stared at her.
She stood abruptly.
“My scholarship. Chicago. Ethan. Everything.”
Her voice broke.
“Grandma was dying. You were sick. We couldn’t afford two college dorms. Ethan wanted me to leave with him after graduation, but I couldn’t leave you alone.”
She hit her chest.
“I worked twelve-hour shifts so you could have a laptop. I wore shoes with holes because you needed tuition money. Every decent thing I ever had, I gave away.”
I stood.
“And you think I asked you to?”
She recoiled.
“No.”
“You think I wanted to build my life on your resentment?”
“I didn’t resent you.”
“You did.”
Her shoulders shook.
“Maybe I did.”
She covered her face.
“Just once, I wanted someone to choose me. Someone to bring me flowers. Someone to look at me and see a woman instead of a person responsible for keeping everyone alive.”
My anger suddenly became very quiet.
“You should have told me.”
She looked up.
“If you had told me when I first met Ethan that he was your old boyfriend, I would have walked away.”
“Chloe—”
“If you had told me three months ago that you still loved him, I would have listened.”
I stepped closer.
“Ethan was a man I loved. But you were my sister.”
Clara began crying harder.
“You thought you were taking my happiness.”
I shook my head.
“You stole a liar.”
I looked around the apartment.
“But what you traded for him was me.”
Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Then someone pounded on the door.
“Chloe!”
Ethan.
“Please open up!”
Clara looked terrified.
I nodded toward the door.
“Let him in.”
