In-Law Murder: My Husband Breaks at the Truth

I'm a major suspect in the in-law murder case in Nexford. My husband, Roland Turner, also known as the police chief, personally arrests me.

During my trial, the murderer commits yet another murder. The latest victims are killed once again using the same brutal method.

Roland kneels on the floor while begging me to tell him the truth. I answer him that I have no idea what it is.

At the same time, the victims' families keep screaming at me, wanting to skin me alive for my crimes.

Three months later, Roland brings a Memory Decryptor with him. He finds me near a pile of trash. With trembling hands, he pierces two thin needles through my temples.

"I'm so sorry, Wendy. I know you're not the murderer, but I just want this slaughterfest to end. I don't want to see anyone else die again.

"We can also use this chance to show your memories to everyone. That way, we can find out what the actual truth is."

But once he views my memories, he suffers from an emotional breakdown and sinks to his knees.

When Roland Turner, along with his men, found me, I was curled up beside a trash can. Filth clung to my skin, and my eyes were as hollow as those of a walking corpse. Trembling, I stuffed scraps of food into my mouth.

He stood beside me, shaking.

"How could this happen?" he asked with reddened eyes.

I jolted at the sound of his familiar voice, my grimy hands freezing mid-motion.

It was Roland.

My heart clenched with sudden pain, and instinctively, I wanted to hide. I didn't want him to see me in this wretched state.

I tried to flee, but several men held me down firmly, leaving me unable to move.

Roland leaned closer, his burning gaze filled with anticipation.

"Wendy Crane, I'm asking you one last time—what really happened to my parents?"

The people beside him glared at me with bloodshot eyes, their knuckles cracking as they clenched their fists.

The splattered blood from that night and the grotesque faces of my in-laws, Wyatt Turner and Margie Lyon, flashed before my eyes again. I shook my head uncontrollably.

"Chief Turner, this vile creature is already rotten to the core! You must stop holding onto any hope for her!"

"She's a demon! Showing mercy to a beast like her tramples on the dignity of the dead!"

Roland's junior, Trisha Fuller, tugged at his sleeve. With red-rimmed eyes, she whispered, "Roland, she's no longer the Wendy you knew. Please wake up!"

Disheveled and filthy, I tried to shrink further into the corner. Seeing their intimate gestures, I lowered my head and stared blankly at my scabbed knees.

Roland clenched his fists and hoarsely ordered, "Take her back."

Just as Roland turned away, the enraged family members surged forward, their fists and kicks raining down like a storm.

I curled up in a pool of blood, the sharp crack of ribs breaking mingling with their curses. Excruciating pain washed over me, swallowing my consciousness.

Hand in hand with Trisha, Roland walked away, his figure growing distant until he vanished from sight without a backward glance.

When I woke again, thick ropes had cut deep into my festering flesh. My limbs were bound to a cold metal chair, machines humming beside me.

Roland's face was pale, his hands trembling as he clutched two fine needles.

"Once the Memory Decryptor is activated, it cannot be stopped," Roland said, turmoil and anguish churning in his eyes. "You will suffer unbearable pain. And once your memories are made public, everything you've hidden will be exposed.

"Wendy, I'm asking you one last time—how exactly did my parents die?"

I writhed, desperate to break free. But the ropes only dug deeper into my flesh, and the chair remained immovable. I shook my head frantically, but only broken, choked sobs escaped my throat.

A flicker of conflict and anguish passed through Roland's eyes, the needles in his hand nearly slipping from his grasp.

Trisha, her face deathly pale, stepped forward. "Roland, you can't hesitate any longer. We just received word that another brutal murder has occurred. They're retaliating and warning us that taking Wendy was only the beginning."

Roland's expression hardened, his resolve solidifying. Finally, he uttered coldly, "Wendy, don't blame me. You brought this upon yourself!"

Gritting his teeth, Roland pressed the needles against my temples. A sharp, piercing pain, like a chisel drilling into bone, shot straight through my skull. Blood trickled down my cheeks, staining my tattered clothes.

Trisha stepped closer, her expression cold as she dug her nails into my wound.

"We haven't started the machine yet. This is your last chance to tell the truth! Once your memories are made public, you'll suffer more than death itself."

Seeing me remain silent, she smirked disdainfully. "You heartless monster! After all the kindness Wyatt and Margie showed you, how could you repay them with such cruelty?"

Roland pressed the activation button, and an electric current instantly surged through my body. I convulsed in agony, my broken screams tearing through the laboratory. It felt as if my brain were being scraped open with a blade.

A second later, blood gushed from my nostrils.

The onlookers clapped and laughed wildly as they watched me writhe in pain.

The family members cheered with glee. "Let this murderess suffer to death!"

The first segment of memory flickered before everyone's eyes.