On the outside, we were almost identical. Same hair, height, voice, even the way we looked. Unless you knew us well, it was impossible to tell us apart. That’s why the plan worked.

I arrived at her house as if I were my sister. I acted calm and quiet, just like she always did. But inside, everything was different. I wasn’t afraid anymore. My sister’s husband sensed it almost immediately.

At first, he simply stared longer than usual, as if trying to figure out what was wrong. Then he started picking at details. She’d placed the mug wrong. She’d answered wrong. She’d used the wrong tone.

“Have you completely lost your nerve?” he asked sharply.

I remained silent and looked him in the eye. Emma used to look down at moments like this. I didn’t.

This infuriated him. He started yelling, pacing the room, waving his arms. He grew increasingly angry, as if he didn’t understand why. And then he did what he always did.

He raised his hand.

And at that moment, I suddenly remembered everything: that I was a former mixed martial arts champion, that I had many medals.

I didn’t even think when I remembered the old trick. One sharp step. One choke hold.

A couple of seconds later, my sister’s husband was already lying on the floor, gasping for breath. His eyes bulged, his face pale. He started pounding his palm on the floor and wheezing, begging for him to stop.