Clinging to Hope

Emma's POV

I felt my depression relapse, the weight of it dragging me down as I sat in the cold, sterile interrogation room. The police questioned me relentlessly about my involvement in the incident. Each session was more stressful and exhausting than the last, the pressure to prove my innocence mounting with every passing minute.

“Emma Emerson,” the officer began, his voice stern and unyielding, “we have evidence linking you to the scene. How do you explain your bracelet being found there?”

“I don’t know how it got there,” I replied, my voice trembling with fatigue and frustration. “I wasn’t there. Someone must have planted it.”

The officer leaned forward, his eyes piercing into mine. “And who would do that? Why would someone want to frame you?”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “I don’t know. But I swear I’m telling the truth.”

"Why were you at the hospital that night?" the officer demanded.

"I was visiting a patient," I replied, my voice trembling despite my efforts t