I received a 25-year prison sentence for a crime I didn’t commit. My husband stood beside his pregnant mistress while my mother-in-law pretended to cry. I calmly revealed one secret. The officers froze, and the prosecutor shouted, “Stop the transfer!”

“Who would do something like that?” I whispered.

Callahan slid a photograph across the table.

“That’s what we’re trying to establish.”

The photograph showed my father’s medication bottle.

“We recovered your fingerprints from the container.”

I stared at him.

“Of course you did. I organized his medication every week.”

He placed another document beside it.

“We also discovered suspicious online purchases made through your computer. The transaction involved a dangerous substance, and the contact number was registered to your secondary phone.”

My stomach tightened.

Silas knew about that phone.

A few weeks earlier, he’d asked for the number, claiming he needed it for a corporate security application.

I’d given it to him without thinking.

“Detective, someone is framing me.”

Callahan didn’t react.

“Your husband and mother-in-law both gave statements. They saw you bringing Arthur his medication on the evening he died.”

“Because that’s what I always did!”