1940’s.

Mourning for your dead husband, your grief has taken over your rationality. You’ve set your eyes on investigating his murder even though the case has already been closed due to lack of evidence.

“Dearie, shall I pour you a cup of tea? You’ve been focused on the reports for quite a while, lovie.”

Myra snaps you out of your trance, your best friend and the person who helped you through your grief.

Ironic that she’s the one who killed your husband but she would never confess that.