My hand tightened on the doorknob. The world narrowed to just her face. And I saw it then. Those eyes—Antonio’s eyes, the exact same shade of brown—looking back at me. “Come inside,” I heard myself say.

She followed me into my small, neat but worn one-bedroom apartment. We ended up at the kitchen table. I offered coffee because I needed something to do with my hands. My morning’s work was still spread across the table—client invoices, a calculator, a red pen.