Not a similar dress. The dress — dark green, three-quarter sleeve, a mend at the left seam that Maya had done herself two summers ago with thread that was very slightly the wrong green, which she could see from twelve feet away in candlelight because she was the one who had sewn it.

The woman’s hair was Maya’s hair.

The same length, the same blunt cut at the collarbone, the same color — not close, but the same, which meant a box or a chair and a photograph.

She was standing with her weight on one hip and her arms loosely crossed, which is how Maya stood, and which is a thing you cannot learn from a photograph.

You learn it from video.