When Strangers Meet

Picture a dinner table for two, set for one — until a stranger asks if you'd mind sharing. She is lonely in all the ways you are. She pours the wine, mentions a movie, and offers you the one thing the unhappy never admit to wanting: a way out, at no cost to you, that no one will ever trace. 

It sounds elegant. Symmetrical. You handle mine, I'll handle yours, and neither of us stands in the same room as the consequence.

But every poison leaves a trace. Every alibi has a seam. 

This is the story of two women who called their crime perfect. They were wrong about one of those two words. 

Join them at the table. The wine is good. The check always comes due.