I’m shaking, and I sit on my hands to hide the tremors. I expect Anneliese to lash out, to burst into tears, to lurch toward me and slap me. I want it, welcome it, want to get into it with her, scream at her, exorcise all the uncertain rage that’s been building up inside me all morning.

But her face is neutral, blank. And then, another downwards glance before meeting my eyes, a look of pity wetting her pupils. “Oh, Suzy. I see what you’re doing.” She smiles sadly and shakes her head.

“Excuse me?”

She moves closer to me on the sofa, finally laying her hand on my knee. I want to bat that hand away. But she’s cornered me. I’m at the end of the couch.

“I knew it would be hard for you to accept someone back in after all you’ve been through. Actually, I expected this kind of reaction months ago, so I’m surprised it’s happening now.” She puts her arm around me, and with the small amount of space, I can’t help but fall into her, her body ensnaring me in the couch cushion.

“It’s hard to be vulnerable when you’ve suffered so much loss. I felt the same way when my mother died, then when my father died as well. It’s easy to lash out at those who love you during these times, especially the people who know you best.”

Now I try to inch away, my face clearly brimming with disgust. “Don’t use my trauma against me. I know what I know, and you have no right to make me feel like I’m clambering for excuses to disengage because I’m not ready to accept your love.” I spit out the last word so forcefully, I see specks of my saliva on Anneliese’s face. She doesn’t wipe it away.

She smiles at me again with that sad, almost regretful look in her eyes, and I want to avert my gaze, but I can’t. “I’m not sure where you got this idea that I’m some kind of grifter, but I assure you it’s untrue. I’ve only been honest with you, Suzy. I mean, how much of a scam artist could I be if I welcomed you into my home, introduced you to my sister, my niece and nephew?” She shakes her head as if to emphasize the absurdity of it all. And as she squeezes my shoulder, it does all begin to seem a bit ridiculous. She’s right. Someone who was lying about her background would never invite me to meet her family, surround me with so many people who knew her history.

“But what about Fauna Garcia?” I ask.