Miranda circled the room, clenching and unclenching her hands. She stopped at the couch, reaching out to pluck up the blanket she’d spread over Spencer the night before. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled the scent of his cologne and the coppery smell of blood. Terror coursed through her veins. She felt sick.

Will he turn me in? Will my mother be deported? Will I go to jail for harboring an illegal alien? Does any of it matter?

Miranda glanced at her mother, who sat in the corner of the room watching her movements and offered her the most reassuring smile she could muster at the moment.

She turned away, feeling like a wrung out rag. Have I really brought any improvement to my mother’s life by bringing her here? Miranda walked to the window and looked through a part in the curtains.

The neighborhood wasn’t the most salubrious, and she lived in constant fear of discovery. But where else could she go? Smuggling her mother into the country had cost a vast amount of money. She’d downsized her lifestyle, trying to make every dollar stretch as far as possible. The small amount she had left in her savings would go quickly once George Meyers found out about the break-in and fired her.

Obtaining her file had been planned to coincide with her vacation time. That would soon be gone, and she didn’t dare go back to work. No doubt Spencer had already told his father everything.

Why did her every attempt at betterment always end in failure?

Miranda heard her mother’s hacking cough behind her. Medicine. Lupe would run out of medicine in a few days. She closed her eyes as another wave of despair washed over her.