My Husband's First Love Accused Me of Arson

“Did you plan to hide this all along and use the chance to escape?”

The microphones thrust in my parents’ faces bombarded them with accusations, leaving them speechless. My parents, never skilled with words, couldn’t even get a chance to defend themselves against the aggressive reporters.

I tried to shield them, stepping in between the reporters and my parents, but it was useless. My incorporeal hands passed right through everyone. I turned to glare at Denver, who stood by, indifferent and unmoved.

What a heartless man he was—a monster in human form!

The reporters jostled my mom so hard that she stumbled and fell to the ground. Only then did Denver shoo the reporters away. Yet, even after all that, he still sent my parents to the police station.

The next day, they were released due to a lack of evidence connecting them to me.

When Denver learned there were no results, he erupted in anger. “Even if you don’t talk, I’ll find Sheila myself and make her pay for what she’s done!”

My mom’s steps were shaky, and my parents’ hair had turned white overnight from the stress.

Unable to reach me by phone, my mom broke down into tears.

“Do you think something’s happened to our daughter? Why has she gone missing?”

My dad clenched his teeth. “We’ll turn to the internet for help.”

“I heard from Eric that his granddaughter’s dog went missing. They posted online, and it wasn’t long before they found it.”

“Our daughter is a living, breathing person. Someone must have seen her.”

My mom nodded, her voice trembling. “Alright, let’s try.”

My dad held up a photo of me and spoke into the camera.

“This is my daughter, Sheila. She’s twenty-seven years old.”

“We can’t get in touch with her. Please, if anyone has seen her, help us find her.”

My dad wasn’t a social media influencer, and only a handful of people joined the livestream at first. But he repeated his message over and over again.

As more viewers joined, my dad—an elderly man past his prime—got down on his knees.

“Please help us,” he begged. “She’s our only daughter.”

“We’ll give a reward—everything we have—for any clues.”

My mom, unable to hold back her despair, bowed her head repeatedly to the camera, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded.

“Please, I’m begging you, help us find our daughter. She’s only twenty-seven...”

The livestream chat was soon filled with support.

[Don’t worry, I’ve shared the photo with all my friends.]

[Uncle and Auntie, please take care of yourselves. We’ll help you find her!]

I watched my parents with tears flowing uncontrollably down my cheeks.

I wanted to tell them the truth. I was already dead. They didn’t need to waste their efforts searching for me. But they couldn’t hear me. All I could do was watch helplessly as they begged over and over for help from strangers.

Not long after, the atmosphere in the livestream shifted. A flood of hateful comments began to pour in.

[Scammers!]

[Don’t believe them! Their daughter is an arsonist.]

[There’s a witness who testified against her, and it’s live right now—it’s her husband, Denver, turning her in!]

My parents froze, stunned by the sudden backlash. My mom quickly searched online and found Denver’s livestream.

Denver’s voice was sharp and accusing. “Sheila is the arsonist. She was caught in the act and fled the scene.”

“Her parents are hiding her and pretending to search for her. Don’t fall for their lies.”

I stood there in disbelief, despair clawing at my heart.

The officials quickly shut down my parents’ livestream, and their personal information was soon exposed online.

My mom’s lips quivered as she whispered, “Why doesn’t Denver believe us?”

I clenched my fists, fury and helplessness boiling within me. I had never told my parents the truth—that Denver’s heart had already moved on to someone else.

Micah, his childhood sweetheart, had grown up alongside him. Six years ago, she married a wealthy businessman but returned a year ago, claiming she had been abused and was now divorced.

I felt sympathy for her and treated her like a friend. But she had repaid my kindness by framing me at every turn.

When I brought her food, she accused me of poisoning it.

“Denver, my stomach hurts so much...” she would cry.

“Sheila, Denver and I are innocent. Why would you try to poison me?”

Time and again, Micah poured filth on my name and set traps to ruin me. And Denver—he chose to believe her every time.