My Wife Framed Me for Murder, But Her Parents' Ghosts Told the Truth

Julia let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Scared my dad will come back to haunt you? Good. That guilt is going to eat you alive."

Beside her, Ava clucked her tongue, her expression dripping with manufactured disdain. "What a piece of trash. No wonder Julia's dumping you. The moment trouble starts, you run for the hills."

I stayed silent. I knew Julia's talent for twisting the truth all too well. She could paint a crow white if she argued long enough.

"Since you're all packed, hurry up and get out!" Julia snapped, her face twisted in disgust.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the handle of my suitcase. I just wanted to leave.

"Wait!" Julia barked.

Before I could react, she lunged forward, shoving me aside to rip the suitcase open. She clearly suspected I was trying to smuggle out something of value.

"Stop!" I shouted, panic seizing my chest.

She shoved me back hard. My heart hammered—not for the clothes, but for what lay beneath them.

Julia tore through the contents. When she saw her parents' old clothes on top, she recoiled as if burned. "Ugh! Bad luck!"

Ava gasped, stumbling back theatrically. "Simon, you really are a psycho. Why are you stealing dead people's clothes? Planning some dark ritual to keep their spirits away? You must be terrified they'll come for revenge!"

Afraid?

They were standing right here.

Only my in-laws knew the depth of the injustice I'd suffered. And they were the only ones on my side.

Julia rummaged a bit more but found nothing she considered valuable. She stood up, sneering. "Take your trash and get out. Staying here another second makes me sick."

I zipped the bag shut. Staying here another second felt like a betrayal of the vengeance I owed them.

"Simon, take these two jars too. Get them out of my sight," Julia commanded, kicking at the porcelain vessels near the door.

My breath hitched. I'd been racking my brain for a way to secure the antiques without arousing suspicion, and now she was practically forcing them on me.

"Simon," my father-in-law's ghostly voice whispered in my ear. "Don't just take them. Make her sign a release."

"That unfilial girl will regret this the moment she realizes their worth," my mother-in-law added. "She'll come back to make trouble. You need proof."

I set my jaw and looked Julia in the eye. "I'll take them, but you have to write me a note. Proof that you're voluntarily giving them up."

Julia frowned, impatience flaring. "Why are you being so difficult? Just take the damn things!"

"No note, no divorce," I said coldly.

Julia glared, fists clenching. But her desire to be rid of me outweighed her annoyance. She grabbed a pen and paper, scribbled the statement, and pressed her thumbprint onto it. I pulled out my phone and recorded the entire process.

I found a sturdy bag and carefully placed the antiques—worth tens of millions—inside.

Julia pointed at the door. "Simon, get out. I never want to see your face again!"

The feeling's mutual.

The moment I left the building, the suffocating weight on my chest began to lift. I immediately contacted an old classmate who worked in a lab and delivered the bottle of medicine I'd salvaged.

"Test the ingredients," I told him. "I need to know exactly what's in this."

My in-laws had died under suspicious circumstances. I wasn't going to let them fade away without justice.

After leaving the lab, I found a modest one-bedroom apartment. It wasn't luxury, but it was clean. After a quick sweep, I moved in.

I opened my laptop and registered the antiques on a professional auction website. With that done, exhaustion finally claimed me.

I slept straight through to the next morning. When I woke, I stretched, feeling something strange—peace. It was the best sleep I'd had in years.

Back when I was caring for my in-laws, I was on call twenty-four hours a day. I cleaned them, fed them, watched over them, yet Julia would still call to harass me, accusing me of negligence while club music blared in the background.

Even when she was out drinking, she needed to control me.

I picked up my phone to check the time and saw a barrage of messages from my classmate.

Dude, you've gone viral.

I frowned and opened the app. There I was, trending.

Julia had launched a full-scale offensive. She accused me of causing her parents' deaths through negligence and abandoning her in her time of grief.

I stared at the screen, stunned. Did I lose my memory? She was the one who demanded the divorce. She was the one who kicked me out.

The comments section was a cesspool.

"Scumbag! He killed the in-laws and ran off!"

"I heard he stole the dead parents' clothes. He knows he committed a sin and is trying to do a ritual to save his own skin."

"Disgusting. Find this man. He needs to pay."

Bile rose in my throat. The audacity of her lies was breathtaking.

A cold breeze brushed my shoulder.

"Simon," my mother-in-law's voice drifted through the room, soft but resolute. "Don't be afraid. We're here. We'll help you clear your name."