My Wife Forged My Autopsy for Her Lover

The third murder happened right after the symposium ended.

The victim was found in the alley behind the venue.

Julia thought it was me. She rushed there like she'd lost her mind.

We locked eyes across the police tape, and hers went red in an instant.

“Joel……if you die, I won't go on living.”

“Let's get married.”

I nodded, tears still falling.

So young then. So stupid. I really believed love could last.

I stared at the wedding band on Julia's finger, turning it over and over in my mind, and none of it made sense.

The moon hung high and full that night—but its light was never meant for me alone.

After the wedding, Julia was appointed as a special-hire professor at Harbor City University.

Among the first cohort of students she mentored, Sebastian Barnes was the most unusual.

His parents were divorced and his family had nothing. He had nowhere to go during breaks, and I felt sorry enough to let him stay with us.

As the days stretched on, I started to realize something was wrong with him.

Expensive cufflinks and watches kept disappearing from the closet.

We had a housekeeper, but he acted as if she didn't exist. He took pleasure in ordering me around instead.

If I refused, Sebastian would erupt into hysterics：

“Joel, I'm depressed, okay? If someone pushes me too far, I'll kill myself!”

“And then Professor Baxter and you—you'll both have blood on your hands! What kind of teachers do that to someone?”

His gaze slid past me and landed on Julia's face.

Not pleading. Triumphant.

He was an intruder who had seized my home and was already scheming to claim my wife's attention.

From that day on, the accidents started.

He swapped the potted plants in the guest room for flower arrangements on purpose.

The allergic reaction put him in the hospital. He missed his thesis defense, then told everyone I had deliberately sabotaged his graduation.

On the stairs, he would suddenly collapse.

He'd let everyone blame me for pushing him, for being cruel.

To help him finish his degree, I invited him into my lab to earn extra credits.

He turned around and upended a full bottle of sulfuric acid over me.

I hit the floor screaming, rolling, clawing at myself—and my little finger was already gone.

The sirens were still wailing in the distance when Sebastian tipped what was left of the bottle onto his own face.

Blood ran down his cheeks as the acid hissed and bubbled, and he was still smiling：

“Joel, you lost a finger. I lost my whole face.”

“So tell me—who do you think she'll feel sorry for?”

When I woke again, the hospital room was empty.

I lay there a long time before I could bring myself to sign the forgiveness letter. He was young. He was sick. I didn't want justice—I just wanted him gone from my life.

But when I found Sebastian's room, I heard him cooing at her through the door.

“Professor, I only got hurt because of Joel. You have to take care of me for the rest of my life!”

And my wife agreed without a second thought.

“If you still trust me, then of course I will.”

Sebastian trusted her, of course. But I didn't. Not anymore.

Just then, Captain Bennett pushed open the door.

“Professor Baxter, no one else has been in or out of your home.”

“But the kidnapper's signal traces back to the Baxter residence. Have you considered the possibility that Sebastian Barnes staged the whole thing himself?”

At the mention of Sebastian, even the most even-tempered senior officer at the station darkened.

“Suicide threats at the drop of a hat. Nobody can talk him down except Professor Baxter.”

After Sebastian moved into our home, it only got worse.

Sometimes in the middle of the night he'd come clutching his blanket, knocking on the master bedroom door, begging Julia to soothe him to sleep.

I told Julia he needed a doctor.

She cut me off, irritated.

“Sebastian is terrified of doctors. Are you trying to push him over the edge?”

“When did you become so heartless?”

Julia was five months pregnant when a prenatal scan flagged a possible abnormality.

I arranged to take her for a follow-up that weekend.

But outside the obstetrics ward, I walked straight into Julia—the one who'd told me she couldn't come because of a work trip.