My Husband's First Love Accused Me of Arson

My mom’s face turned bright red with anger. Just as she was about to defend me, Patricia cut her off with a sharp voice.

“Sheila might look innocent, but deep down, she’s a cold-blooded murderer!”

“You know how we figured out how your daughter set the fire? It’s all thanks to your righteous son-in-law. He’s been going door-to-door in the neighborhood the past few days, looking for her!”

On hearing this, my fury flared. It was Denver again!

He trusted the lies of his childhood sweetheart and framed me for arson. He even accused my parents of hiding me, driving my father to the hospital. And now, he was tarnishing our reputation throughout the neighborhood.

This man was heartless!

Because of Denver’s actions, my parents could no longer endure life in the neighborhood. My father decided it was time to leave.

“Our daughter didn’t kill anyone,” he said firmly. “We’ll go back to the countryside for now. Once the truth comes out, we’ll return.”

As they packed their belongings and reached the neighborhood gate, they ran straight into Denver.

My mom, desperate, stepped forward and pleaded. “Denver, could you please...”

Before she could finish, Denver grabbed hold of them.

“You’re trying to run away?!” he snapped.

His loud accusation drew the attention of the neighbors, who quickly gathered around.

“Isn’t that Zandro? What’s going on?”

“His daughter committed arson and injured people. Now he and his wife are hiding her!”

My parents, who had always been kind to others, were now being condemned publicly. Tears streamed down their faces.

“Our daughter didn’t hurt anyone…” they sobbed.

Denver raised his voice for all to hear. “They’re harboring a fugitive and trying to flee. If anyone sees Sheila, report her to the police immediately!”

The crowd pointed and whispered cruel remarks.

“I knew these two weren’t decent folks.”

“Hiding a murderer—don’t associate with their family anymore.”

My father grabbed Denver’s arm, his voice shaking as he tried to explain, “We’re not running away! People have been insulting us, and my heart can’t take it. We just wanted to stay in the countryside for a while.”

His face, lined with wrinkles, was full of hope, as though he still believed Denver might trust him.

But Denver’s expression was stern and unyielding. “Don’t try to fool me. I’m taking you to the police station. Sheila nearly killed Micah, and I won’t let this slide!”

He shoved my parents into the car with such force that my mom’s head slammed into the doorframe. Her forehead swelled instantly, and she fainted on the spot.

Denver, however, showed no concern. Instead, his expression turned cold and accusatory. “Stop pretending to be pitiful! Don’t think you can trick me with this act!”

Even as my father begged him to go to the hospital, Denver drove straight toward the police station.

I had thought he just didn’t trust me, but I hadn’t expected him to be this ruthless toward the elders who loved and cared for him.

Fury and heartbreak consumed me as I lashed out, slapping Denver’s face with all my strength.

“Denver, you heartless bastard! How could I have ever loved you?”

But my ghostly hands passed right through him, unable to hurt him at all.

Before we reached the police station, a crowd of reporters surrounded the car, blocking the road.

I remembered the phone cameras in the neighborhood earlier—someone must have uploaded the footage online.

The reporters bombarded Denver with questions as soon as they saw him.

“Dr. Watkins, is it true your wife is the arsonist? Will you shield her?”

Denver replied with righteous indignation, “I’m a law-abiding citizen. I would never protect a criminal!” He pointed at my parents and continued, “These two are her parents. They’ve been hiding Sheila and were trying to escape, but I caught them.”

The reporters turned their attention to my parents, thrusting microphones in their faces.

“Where are you hiding the murderer?”

“Several children were injured in the fire. How can you still protect her? Don’t you feel any guilt?”

The relentless flashing lights hurt my parents’ eyes. My mom struggled to defend me.

“Our daughter didn’t set the fire. We...”

But before she could finish, the reporters interrupted her with an onslaught of accusatory questions, each sharper than the last.

“Did you know about Sheila’s arson plans in advance?”

“Were you involved in helping her escape after the crime?”