My in-laws were dead, and my wife was convinced I killed them. She screamed that they should have lived to a hundred—that I was a curse upon this family.

She kicked me out. Threatened to sue. Vowed to leave me destitute and disgraced.

I wandered the streets in a daze, my mind fogged with grief. I didn't hear the car until tires screeched against asphalt.

I froze. The bumper stopped inches from my legs.

Then familiar voices drifted through the air—voices that shouldn't exist anymore.

My in-laws. But not hallucinations. They hovered beside me, translucent and flickering.

"Simon, our deaths have nothing to do with you."

"It was that heartless daughter of ours," my mother-in-law wailed. "She drugged us."

"She took out death insurance policies on us," my father-in-law added, his voice trembling with spectral rage. "She stands to collect millions."

Ice shot down my spine.

The memories flooded back. When they were dying, Julia had physically blocked me from calling 911. She said she wanted them to "leave with dignity"—no invasive procedures.

Then she insisted on immediate cremation. Scattered their ashes into the sea before sunset.

I'd thought it was grief. Now I understood. It was calculated.

"Pull yourself together!" my father-in-law barked. "She killed us, and now she wants you to take the fall. Once she gets the payout, she's running off with her lover."

"You cannot let her get away with this!"

I stood frozen on the sidewalk.

Julia. My wife. The woman I'd sacrificed everything for.

She'd always claimed work kept her too busy to help, so I was the one who cared for her parents. I ran errands, managed appointments, stayed by their bedsides. She'd promised to remember my sacrifices.

While I wiped her parents' brows, she was romancing another man.

Rage ignited in my chest. I turned and sprinted back toward the house.

The ghosts floated alongside me, filling in the details. Julia had used her parents' illness as cover—lied about medical costs, claimed she was buying expensive imported drugs. In reality, she hoarded the money for her lover.

When her parents discovered the theft, they ordered her to confess to me.

Instead, she wept and knelt, begging for time.

That night, she increased their dosage and silenced them forever.

"The money is hidden under the bed," my father-in-law urged. "Hurry—before that wretch and her adulterer take it."

The bed. It made sense now. Julia had forbidden me from touching it, claiming some fortune teller warned it would ruin the household feng shui.

I burst into the bedroom and shoved the mattress aside. Pried up the boards.

Beneath them lay piles of "old clothes"—except they weren't old at all. Designer pieces, barely worn. All Julia's size.

I tossed them aside and found the hoard.

Cash. Gold bars. Jewelry. Luxury watches.

My hands shook as I calculated. Over three million dollars.

Bile rose in my throat.

When her parents got sick, I'd sold my company—worth millions—to pay for their treatment. Endured the humiliation of unemployment, thinking I was saving lives.

Julia had pocketed most of that money. She hadn't spent it on her parents. She'd stolen it from me.

Digging deeper, I found two medicine bottles with foreign labels.

"That's the poison," my mother-in-law cried, her spirit flickering. "That's what killed us."

I clenched the bottles. "Mom, Dad—I'm taking this evidence. I swear I'll bring Julia to justice."

They wept openly. "You were more of a son to us than that beast ever was. We just want to see you live a good life."

My throat tightened. My own parents died when I was young; I'd always viewed them as real family. When Julia and I married, they'd told her not to demand an outrageous bride price—said our happiness was the only priority.

I hadn't cared for them to please Julia. I'd done it because I loved them.

I grabbed a suitcase and stuffed the valuables inside. After a moment's thought, I packed their remaining clothes too—the few items that hadn't been burned. A memorial.

Before I left, my father-in-law pointed toward the corner. Two dusty ceramic jars sat there, unassuming.

"Take the jars." His voice carried unusual weight. "They look like junk, but they're ancient antiques. That pair alone is worth twenty million."

I stared at the unassuming ceramic jar, keeping my expression neutral. To the untrained eye, it was just a dusty old vessel. In reality, it was a fortune disguised as junk.

Julia had threatened to smash it a dozen times during her temper tantrums.

"It holds sentimental value," I used to tell her, shielding it with my body. "Please, don't touch Mom and Dad's things."

Now, the spirits of my in-laws hovered beside me. We wanted to leave it to you and Julia as an inheritance, my mother-in-law lamented. We never imagined our own flesh and blood would be the one to end us.

I was just reaching for a bag to conceal the jar when the front door banged open.

Julia marched in, with Ava Chavez—the neighborhood's most notorious gossip—hot on her heels.

Julia's gaze landed on me, and her face twisted with disgust. "Simon, didn't I tell you to get out? What are you doing back here?"

She didn't wait for an answer, turning her performance toward Ava. "It's all his fault. He cursed my parents. They should have lived for years!"

"I took care of them," I said quietly. "I managed their meds, their meals, their hygiene. Where were you, Julia?"

Ava scoffed, looking at me like something she'd scraped off her shoe. "Save it, Simon. You really are a piece of work."

A dry, bitter laugh escaped me.

For months, I had been the one by their bedside day and night. Meanwhile, Julia had been busy painting a masterpiece of lies to the neighbors, claiming I was an unemployed leech who abused the elderly. Whenever she needed sympathy, she would wail loudly enough for the whole block to hear. Now, the neighbors looked at me with pure hatred.

"Beast! How did we raise such a beast?" my mother-in-law screamed at her daughter, though only I could hear her.

"If it weren't for Simon, we would have died in misery long ago!" my father-in-law shouted, his ghostly fists clenching. "He was the only one who cared!"

They screamed their defense, but their voices dissolved into the air, unheard by the living.

I caught a flicker of a smile on Julia's lips before she suppressed it.

Watch out, Simon, my mother-in-law warned, drifting closer. I know that look. She's plotting something.

Julia's expression hardened. "My parents were stable, Simon. Why did they deteriorate so fast? Did you feed them something? I found a strange medicine bottle in the trash."

Ava gasped, clutching her chest theatrically. "Julia! Why haven't you called the police? He murdered them! How can you let him walk away?"

My in-laws were right. Julia was setting the stage to frame me.

Julia sighed, feigning the weight of a grieving saint. "Let it go, Ava. We were married once, after all. Mom and Dad wouldn't want a scandal tarnishing their memory."

She reached into her bag and slammed a document onto the table.

"Sign the divorce agreement. Then get out of my sight."

Don't sign it yet, my father-in-law urged. If you agree too easily, she'll get suspicious. She knows you have nowhere to go. Stall.

He knew his daughter's twisted mind better than anyone.

I slumped my shoulders, adopting the posture of a defeated man. "Julia... do we really have to do this? Can't we work it out?"

A smirk tugged at Julia's mouth. "Have some dignity, Simon. You killed my parents. I can't live with a murderer."

"You leech!" Ava chimed in, her voice rising so the neighbors might hear. "Trying to bleed Julia dry even now? I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of monster you are."

I knew exactly why Julia had brought Ava. She was a human megaphone. By tomorrow morning, the entire community would know Julia was the tragic victim and I was the villain who refused to let go.

Although every fiber of my being wanted to flee this toxic house, I had to sell the performance. "Julia, please. Give me one more chance. I'll do better."

"Chance?" Julia sneered. "You don't deserve chances. Sign the papers. Now."

I let out a long, shuddering breath, picked up the pen, and scrawled my signature with a trembling hand.

Julia fought back a triumphant grin. She had to maintain her grieving facade in front of Ava, but her eyes danced with victory.

I turned back to my suitcase, my heart pounding.

"Wait." Julia's voice cut sharp. "What's in the bag?"

I froze, then turned slowly, forcing a look of resignation. "Just my clothes. I packed a few days ago... I thought giving you some space might help save our marriage."

Julia let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Scared my dad will come back to haunt you? Good. That guilt is going to eat you alive."

Beside her, Ava clucked her tongue, her expression dripping with manufactured disdain. "What a piece of trash. No wonder Julia's dumping you. The moment trouble starts, you run for the hills."

I stayed silent. I knew Julia's talent for twisting the truth all too well. She could paint a crow white if she argued long enough.

"Since you're all packed, hurry up and get out!" Julia snapped, her face twisted in disgust.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the handle of my suitcase. I just wanted to leave.

"Wait!" Julia barked.

Before I could react, she lunged forward, shoving me aside to rip the suitcase open. She clearly suspected I was trying to smuggle out something of value.

"Stop!" I shouted, panic seizing my chest.

She shoved me back hard. My heart hammered—not for the clothes, but for what lay beneath them.

Julia tore through the contents. When she saw her parents' old clothes on top, she recoiled as if burned. "Ugh! Bad luck!"

Ava gasped, stumbling back theatrically. "Simon, you really are a psycho. Why are you stealing dead people's clothes? Planning some dark ritual to keep their spirits away? You must be terrified they'll come for revenge!"

Afraid?

They were standing right here.

Only my in-laws knew the depth of the injustice I'd suffered. And they were the only ones on my side.

Julia rummaged a bit more but found nothing she considered valuable. She stood up, sneering. "Take your trash and get out. Staying here another second makes me sick."

I zipped the bag shut. Staying here another second felt like a betrayal of the vengeance I owed them.

"Simon, take these two jars too. Get them out of my sight," Julia commanded, kicking at the porcelain vessels near the door.

My breath hitched. I'd been racking my brain for a way to secure the antiques without arousing suspicion, and now she was practically forcing them on me.

"Simon," my father-in-law's ghostly voice whispered in my ear. "Don't just take them. Make her sign a release."

"That unfilial girl will regret this the moment she realizes their worth," my mother-in-law added. "She'll come back to make trouble. You need proof."

I set my jaw and looked Julia in the eye. "I'll take them, but you have to write me a note. Proof that you're voluntarily giving them up."

Julia frowned, impatience flaring. "Why are you being so difficult? Just take the damn things!"

"No note, no divorce," I said coldly.

Julia glared, fists clenching. But her desire to be rid of me outweighed her annoyance. She grabbed a pen and paper, scribbled the statement, and pressed her thumbprint onto it. I pulled out my phone and recorded the entire process.

I found a sturdy bag and carefully placed the antiques—worth tens of millions—inside.

Julia pointed at the door. "Simon, get out. I never want to see your face again!"

The feeling's mutual.

The moment I left the building, the suffocating weight on my chest began to lift. I immediately contacted an old classmate who worked in a lab and delivered the bottle of medicine I'd salvaged.

"Test the ingredients," I told him. "I need to know exactly what's in this."

My in-laws had died under suspicious circumstances. I wasn't going to let them fade away without justice.

After leaving the lab, I found a modest one-bedroom apartment. It wasn't luxury, but it was clean. After a quick sweep, I moved in.

I opened my laptop and registered the antiques on a professional auction website. With that done, exhaustion finally claimed me.

I slept straight through to the next morning. When I woke, I stretched, feeling something strange—peace. It was the best sleep I'd had in years.

Back when I was caring for my in-laws, I was on call twenty-four hours a day. I cleaned them, fed them, watched over them, yet Julia would still call to harass me, accusing me of negligence while club music blared in the background.

Even when she was out drinking, she needed to control me.

I picked up my phone to check the time and saw a barrage of messages from my classmate.

Dude, you've gone viral.

I frowned and opened the app. There I was, trending.

Julia had launched a full-scale offensive. She accused me of causing her parents' deaths through negligence and abandoning her in her time of grief.

I stared at the screen, stunned. Did I lose my memory? She was the one who demanded the divorce. She was the one who kicked me out.

The comments section was a cesspool.

"Scumbag! He killed the in-laws and ran off!"

"I heard he stole the dead parents' clothes. He knows he committed a sin and is trying to do a ritual to save his own skin."

"Disgusting. Find this man. He needs to pay."

Bile rose in my throat. The audacity of her lies was breathtaking.

A cold breeze brushed my shoulder.

"Simon," my mother-in-law's voice drifted through the room, soft but resolute. "Don't be afraid. We're here. We'll help you clear your name."