Black widow

            Ah, a victim. The most important part of a successful bombing, other than the delicious rush of the explosion, is having someone to take the fall. And here he is, the man who saw me being oh, so sweet and altruistic to that family. A very handsome man and one, apparently, attracted to sweetness and kindness, as well as to vulnerability. Strange profession he’s chosen, given that. But everyone’s got a weakness, like mine for children.

            I suppose, if I think too much about what he said when we first met, I might regret it. I won’t think about it.

Impulse

            The impulse to help the little homeless family had been just that: an impulse. Maybe it was that the little girl in the car reminded her of herself at that age. Maybe it was that her manager annoyed her, and she just wanted to do something that would really, really annoy him back. Maybe it was that there was a handsome stranger looking on, and she had an image to maintain. Maybe it was all of the above. She never expected them to come back later, invading her privacy, interrupting her plans, and, above all, making her unexpectedly hate herself.