Then it was quiet and the only sound that could be heard was Deven’s own breathing, roaring hot and heavy in her ear. There was a rub on her back, soft and encouraging, but Justin didn’t speak. In one quick burst of desperation, Deven lifted a trembling hand to slide the photograph from the clip and flip it over, forcing her eyes open with breathless sobs.

Tears blurred her vision but even still, Deven could make out the woman, her skin tinged slightly gray with death. The picture was taken from above her as it was clear she was lying down. Gravity pulled her skin tight, her black hair like a crown fanned out around her head.

Deven blinked once, then twice, leaning forward to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. The woman had high cheekbones and a mole next to thick lips, parted ever so slightly. The similarities were undeniable, but the more Deven scrutinized, the quicker the surge of exhilaration, then relief, and finally confusion swelled like indigestion in her chest. She shook her head and looked up to Maria with a hint of triumph just below her sorrowful grimace. “No,” she whispered.

Maria’s forehead creased in confusion. “No, what?”

Deven jabbed the picture with her finger to further affirm her discovery. “This is not my sister. That’s not Kennedy.”

Chapter Three - Three Months Before

Chapter Three

Three Months Before

She didn’t know which was worse, the tedious process of helping her sister unpack or the tedious process of helping her sister unpack while pregnant.

Deven sighed, her breathing labored as she slid a scissor blade across the tape of a box marked Kitchen. The flaps popped open like a springboard revealing a set of bubble-wrapped plates and saucers she’d never seen Kennedy use. Come to think of it, her sister hadn’t stepped foot in the kitchen to cook at all (well not since they were kids), so the expensive dinnerware seemed like a pure waste. Even more reason why her assigned task of putting up the kitchen items was futile. Still, Kennedy insisted she handle the light stuff, something physically appropriate for a pregnant woman of twelve weeks. So, though Deven figured the dishes would remain untouched until it was time to pack for the next move, she started arranging them neatly in the cabinets over the gas stove with care.

In methodical pairs, moving men lugged in boxes and furniture, too engrossed with the work for idle chitchat. Their shirts were stained wet with sweat at the two-story climb to the spacious condo, but Deven appreciated their efficiency. One look out the balcony window and she saw the moving truck was nearly empty. Kennedy stood in the middle of the parking lot delegating what went where. She was completely overdressed for moving day in her red-bottom heels and skinny jeans. But that was her sister. Every week was New York Fashion Week.