Setting the car keys on the table beside the door, I shove the paper with the entry code into my pocket and enter the foreign space. It’s obvious from the stale air and sparse mismatch of furnishings—a couch, a coffee table littered with newspapers and junk, and one chair—no one lives here. No table in the small dining room. The kitchen is the size of my bathroom at Santiago’s house. I open the refrigerator to find a couple of takeout containers of spoiled food. I leave them but grab a bottle of water of which there are plenty stacked, taking up two of the shelves.

I open it and drink half, then remember the candy bars Eva shoved into my pocket and take one out. I rip the wrapper and take a bite as I open the freezer, curious to see if there’s anything inside. I’m surprised to find stacks of frozen dinners and a half-full bottle of vodka.

No one lives here, but someone does use this place. This safe house. I am curious who.

I finish the candy bar and take out one of the dinners, a lasagna dish. Before heating it, I grab the phone out of my pocket and dial Abel. He answers on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“I’m here.”

He exhales. “Good. Okay. Stay put while I figure out what to do with you.”

“Did Evangeline make it out?”

“Of course, she did.” He sounds almost proud.

“Can I talk to her?”

“No, you need to hang up. I’m sure your husband has a search party out by now.”

“I promised I’d call her.”

“I’ll let her know you made it.”

“Whose house is this?” I ask.

He goes quiet for a moment, then snorts. “Dad’s. Don’t touch anything.”

“Dad’s? What?”

“Don’t touch anything, understand? You just go up to bed. Wait for me to call you.”

“But I don’t understand. What do you mean it’s Dad’s?”

I hear the doorbell ring on his end. “I have to go,” Abel says.

“Is it him? Santiago?”

“I can’t see through closed doors, can I? Don’t call me, I’ll call you. You just stay put. Do not go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects the call, and I busy myself opening the frozen dinner. I pop it into the microwave and look out the window onto the big, empty lot of the fenced-in backyard with its brown grass while it cooks. The clouds have darkened, the first drops of rain falling, and my gaze shifts from the garden to my own reflection.

My sister was right. I look bad.

I touch a hand to my stomach, turn sideways even though I know it’ll still be flat. I’m having a baby. Santiago’s baby.