At the hospital, a nurse led me into a private room.
Alma was sitting in bed beneath a white blanket.
For one terrible second, I hesitated.
Then Alma looked at me.
“Victor,” she whispered.
I crossed the room.
She wrapped both arms around my waist and pressed her cheek against my chest.
The way she always had.
I held her so tightly that the nurse asked me to be careful.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Alma pulled back.
“For what?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You did know.”
“Not fast enough.”
“You found me.”
Her voice broke.
“She kept saying you wouldn’t notice. She said she had studied me so well that you would never know the difference.”
I touched her face.
“I knew something was wrong the moment Milo wouldn’t go near her.”
Alma laughed and cried at the same time.
“Of course, the dog knew first.”
Ava was charged with kidnapping, false imprisonment, identity theft, and several other offenses.
Police found notebooks in her house filled with details about our lives.
My work schedule, our anniversary, names of my relatives, restaurants we visited, and even phrases Alma used in text messages.
She had been watching us for years.
The lily-shaped birthmark had been the one detail she could not remove.
