NARRATOR: A Wednesday in March. Glastonbury. Carolyn is at her kitchen counter with a glass of pinot and her laptop. The screen is open to a Facebook support group: WIDOWED AND WALKING, fourteen thousand two hundred members. She has been a member for six months. Daniel commented on her last post about Greg. It was kind. Tonight, his private message lights up at eight forty-three PM.

NARRATOR: Daniel is a marine engineer. North Sea oil platform, two-week rotations. Widowed himself — a wife named Astrid, gone two years. He has a daughter, Ida, eighteen, studying violin in Oslo. His profile photo shows a kind man on a metal walkway in a yellow safety jacket. He has been posting in the group for four months. Everyone likes him.

DANIEL (private message): "Carolyn. Forgive me. I do not usually do this. I have read your posts about Greg for some weeks now. The way you talk about him reminds me of how I talked about Astrid in the first year. The hospital cafeteria photograph you posted made me cry on this oil rig in front of three Romanian welders. I do not want to be alone tonight, and I think perhaps you do not either. Will you tell me one good thing about Greg?"

What she did: Tell him about Greg's burnt pancakes — Lean in. He sounds like he understands.

NARRATOR: Six weeks pass. The messages become daily. Daniel calls her 'min vakre' — Norwegian for 'my beautiful' — and translates it. He sends voice notes when he wakes up at four AM ship time. They have tried video twice; the satellite always glitches just as his face comes into focus. He asks her about Greg. He listens. He remembers things. He talks about a plane ticket — Bradley International, the second week of May — and asks her what she wants to do on the first night.

DANIEL: "Min vakre. I am going to ask you something difficult, and I need you to know I have been trying not to ask all week. Ida — my daughter — had a small kidney complication after a stomach virus. The Norwegian system is wonderful, but there is a surgical clinic in Bergen that needs the money paid up front, and my company holds two weeks of my salary on rotation. Three thousand two hundred dollars. I will pay you back the day my rotation ends — that is twelve days. I would not ask if I did not — Carolyn, I would not ask."

What she did: Wire it. He's been good to her. — He'd do the same for you. Loyalty is loyalty.

NARRATOR: Carolyn wired three thousand two hundred dollars from her Constitution Bank account to a correspondent account at a bank in Singapore — Daniel said that was where his company routed staff payments. Twelve days passed. Then sixteen. Then twenty-three. Daniel had been recovering from a fall on the rig — bruised ribs, no internet for six days — and would pay her back as soon as he was home. Carolyn felt foolish for counting the days. She did not tell anyone she had wired the money.

DANIEL: "Carolyn — I have done it. I have booked the flight. Lufthansa — Oslo to Frankfurt to Bradley — arriving fourteenth May at four forty PM local time. I am sending you the confirmation now. I want you to know — I want you to know I have not booked a plane ticket since Astrid died. I am — I am not good at this. I will see you in three weeks. I love you."

DANIEL: "Carolyn — please pick up. Please. I am — I am at Frankfurt, the connection. German customs has pulled me into secondary inspection. They are saying my company account has had unusual activity, that I cannot board the next flight until I clear a — a customs deposit. Seven thousand four hundred dollars. They will refund it when I land at Bradley. Carolyn — I am going to miss the flight. Please."

What she did: Open a browser. Search 'Frankfurt customs deposit' — Read the first three results before you do anything else.