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

The jarring ring of my phone tore me from sleep. Abigail Delaney, my landlady. Her voice scraped against my ear before I could even manage a hello.

"Get out. My apartment isn't for rent to you anymore. Pack your things and leave. Now."

I sat up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "Excuse me? Why?"

"Bad luck," she spat. "Trash like you pollutes my property. I don't want your misfortune seeping into the walls."

I didn't argue. Julia's smear campaign had clearly reached every corner of my life. To the world, I was the ungrateful son-in-law, a pariah.

"Fine," I said, my voice steady. "Refund my deposit and the prepaid rent, and I'll be gone within the hour."

I had paid three months upfront—two for deposit, one for rent.

"Refund?" Abigail scoffed. "You've made this place radioactive. Who's going to rent it after a scandal like yours? I'm keeping the money. In fact, you owe me another three thousand for the damage to my reputation."

I didn't waste breath on a woman who'd already made up her mind. I simply hung up. The lawyers could handle her later.

I packed my life into a single suitcase and went downstairs. The car I'd booked was still a few minutes away.

As I stood on the curb, shivering in the morning chill, a familiar figure strutted toward me. Julia. She wore a smile that didn't reach her eyes—a predator spotting wounded prey.

"Well, well," she purred, stopping a few feet away. "Kicked to the curb, Simon? You look pitiful. Like a stray dog searching for a bone."

I met her gaze, expression impassive. "Karma has a way of circling back, Julia. It's not too late to stop this."

She threw her head back and laughed—a shrill sound that grated on my nerves. "Who are you trying to scare? I'm terrified, really. But since we were once husband and wife, I'll show you some mercy."

She reached into her designer bag and pulled out a heavy plastic sack. With a sneer, she tossed it at my feet.

Clang.

The bag split open. Coins spilled across the pavement, rolling into the gutter.

"Pick it up," she commanded, eyes dancing with malice. "Over a hundred bucks in change. Enough to keep a loser like you fed for a few days."

I looked at the scattered coins, then back at her. A faint, pitying smile crossed my face. "Keep it, Julia. Trust me—you're going to need it more than I do."

A black sedan pulled up. My ride. I tossed my suitcase in the back and slid into the passenger seat. As the driver put the car in gear, I rolled down the window.

"Oh, and Julia?" I called out. "You might want to air out your parents' mattress."

The blood drained from her face. Arrogance vanished, replaced by sheer panic. "You... Simon, you touched the bed? You bastard!"

I signaled the driver to go, leaving her screaming on the sidewalk.