The Judgement

“What are you talking about? I didn’t kill anyone,” I cried out, but no one listened to my plea.

I was bewildered; none of it made any sense. I had just seen Eunice, yet now I was being accused of her death. Despite my desperate pleas, heart pounding, I was taken to the police station and interrogated.

“Why did you kill her?” the bearded police officer in front of me asked, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“I swear to you, I did not kill Eunice. Please believe me. Please,” I folded my hands in tears, my voice breaking.

How did I get myself into this situation? I asked myself repeatedly.

“Your fingerprints are on the weapon you used to kill her. What do you have to say about that?” the officer asked.

My eyes widened in confusion. None of it made sense. The room seemed to close in on me as I stared at the inspector, his words echoing in my mind.

"My... my fingerprint? On what weapon?" My body trembled, my back aching even more.

“Where were you before going to the penthouse?” the inspector asked, reclining back in his chair, cigarette now between his fingers.

I hesitated. How could I tell him I was at home and saw my husband with the same woman who is now dead, whom I supposedly killed? I needed to protect my marriage and Marcus’s reputation. Despite my heartbreak, I couldn’t bring our marital problems into the public eye.

“I was at home with my husband,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“What led to you leaving?” The inspector leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he looked me in the eye.

“We had a little argument, and I left the house for a while. I decided to visit the penthouse,” I lied through my teeth.

The inspector was silent, his eyes giving away nothing. My heart pounded heavily while the baby inside of me kicked.

“Just a ‘little argument’ made you leave the house for the penthouse, yeah?” he asked.

“Yes,” I nodded almost immediately.

“Interesting,” the inspector said, standing up from his chair.

He began to circle me slowly. “How about I tell you what really happened, Mrs. Mia Marcus? You came back from the hospital, went straight to your room, and saw your husband with his cousin, having a chat, holding hands like siblings do. You got angry, suspected more, picked up a knife from the apple bowl, and stabbed Eunice out of sheer jealousy and anger. You also injured your husband when he tried to stop you. Then, you fled to the penthouse. Isn’t that the real story, Mrs. Mia Marcus?”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t wrap my head around what I just heard. I just couldn’t believe my ears; the lies I heard made me doubt myself.

“No, that’s not it. That’s not the truth, I swear to you,” I countered, shaking my head frantically. “I caught my husband having sex with Eunice, who he claimed was his cousin. He lied to me,” I explained, my voice breaking as I ignored the judgment in their eyes.

“I thought you had told me it was a petty argument, but what you just told doesn’t seem petty. Which means you lied,” the inspector bashed as he stood by my side.

“No, please believe me…” tears finally came out from my eyes. I couldn’t believe that Marcus could frame me for death. I couldn’t believe that the same Marcus who promised to never make me cry was the reason I was in tears and heartbroken.

No matter how hard I tried to defend myself, the police didn’t believe me. I was locked up, the pain of betrayal gnawing at my heart. Why did Marcus do this to me? Was it a crime to love? Tears streamed down my face as my life crumbled. I had no one apart from Marcus. He was my whole world, convincing me I needed no friends, claiming they would ruin our marriage.

I was charged to court and had no lawyer, no one to fight for me. The only important person in my life was the one I was fighting against. An orphan faced with the wickedness of the world. I was given a public defender because Marcus maneuvered to use my family lawyer against me as he defended against me. Everything about me was betrayal. Everyone was for money and I was shocked even Carlos who I always claimed to love me deserted me as he saw I was poor and had nothing to offer.

As much as my public defender tried to fight for my cause, various fake evidence were against me. From the fingerprints on a weapon I never used, to Marcus saying I have anger issues and I tried multiple times to injure him based on him cheating, while he had never cheated on me. The accusations and lies went on and on, and finally, the judge gave his verdict.

“Will the defendant please rise,” the judge said, and my heart banged so hard on my rib cage as I stood up with trembling legs.

“Having been faced with different incriminating charges and evidence backing it, I hereby find you guilty of the second-degree murder of Miss Eunice Douglass and also for the assault of your husband, Marcus. You are hereby sentenced to forty years imprisonment,” the judge banged the gavel on the table, and my heart shattered into pieces.