My Wife Called Me a Killer

Emily Parker wore an air of righteous determination.

Without hesitation, she pulled out her phone.

“I’m calling the police right now. I don’t believe you can keep escaping every time.”

“Emily, please don’t!”

My mother, Linda Miller, rushed to stop her.

“Get out of my way!”

Emily shoved Linda so hard she lost her balance and fell to the ground.

“Emily, damn it!”

Seeing my mother collapse, I roared and rushed forward, helping her up.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, David,” Linda whispered, shaking her head. She forced herself to stand despite the pain, tears spilling down her face. “Emily, just… don’t call the police. Whatever conditions you just mentioned—I’ll agree to them all.”

Emily’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “You mean it?”

“Yes,” Linda sobbed. “All of it. As long as David is safe, I’ll give you whatever you want. Even my life, if that’s what it takes.”

“Your life isn’t worth much.” Emily sneered, curling her lip.

“Mom, what the hell are you talking about? What does she want from you?”

“David, don’t ask,” Linda said quickly, refusing to explain.

But my aunt could no longer keep silent. She rose to her feet and snapped,

“David, before you came back, your wife said she didn’t want to be married to a murderer. She demanded a divorce—and she also wanted your mother to sign over the house and give her fifty thousand dollars in compensation.”

My blood boiled. I glared at Emily. “Is that true?”

“So what if it is?” she shot back coldly, folding her arms. “Everyone’s already calling me the murderer’s wife. The divorce was my parents’ idea too. I’ve been married to you for two years—consider the house and the money as payment for my lost youth and ruined reputation.”

“We’ve got thirty thousand in our joint account. That’s more than enough to compensate you. But you want to take my mother’s house and her life savings on top of that? Are you even human?”

“Thirty thousand? That’s barely enough for a car.” Emily scoffed.

“David, please don’t fight with her,” Linda pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “As long as she doesn’t call the police, she can have the house and the money. I’ll give her everything.”

“No.” I snapped. “Not a cent.”

I turned to Captain Johnson, my finger stabbing toward Emily.

“She’s the real murderer!”

The entire room froze.

“David, don’t talk nonsense,” Linda gasped, terrified I was only lashing out in revenge for Emily reporting me.

“Watch your words,” my aunt hissed, shooting me a warning look to back down.

But I stood firm, staring straight at Captain Johnson.

“Three bizarre murders have shaken Chicago in less than a week. Even if she didn’t kill them with her own hands, Emily was involved. I’m certain of it.”

Linda clutched my arm, frantic. “David, please—don’t do this.”

“Mom, trust me. I know what I’m saying.”

Captain Johnson’s brow furrowed as his voice grew heavy.

“David Miller, fabricating a murder accusation is a serious crime.”

I could hear the warning behind his words—he was giving me a chance to back off.

But I didn’t. I laid out my reasoning instead:

“Three murders in under a week, all identical to the plots of my novel. No one can believe that’s a coincidence. The only explanation is… someone knew my story before I published it. They used it as a blueprint to kill, either to frame me—or for some other purpose.”