I know they think I killed my husband. Because they think I've killed before. Eight years ago, a girl I knew died. I try not to think too much about that time, about the person I used to be when that tragedy happened. It hurts too much. Besides, it's so far in the past. Now, I have a beautiful home and a committed husband. I should be looking to the future. But then one day, my husband is found dead in the home we built together. The police seem convinced that I had something to do with it - it's always the wife, right? And it doesn't help that the police thought I had something to do with that girl's death, eight years ago, too. When things seem like they can't get any worse, I arrive home to find an unwelcome visitor on my doorstep. Even though we were best friends once, it takes a moment for me to recognise her. Because she doesn't look like herself anymore. She looks like... me. She's even wearing my favourite perfume. I can't help but wonder why she's here so soon after my husband's death. Coincidences happen. But in my bones, I know this isn't that.