My husband’s childhood sweetheart accused me of intentional homicide.

In response, my husband upheld "justice" over family ties and personally led the charge to apprehend me. Together with his childhood sweetheart, he even started a live broadcast to declare my "crimes" to the entire internet.

But when he painstakingly tracked me down, he discovered that I had already died seven days ago.

Bang!

The front door of my house was violently kicked open by my husband, Denver Watkins.

“She must be hiding in here! Search the place!” he ordered the officers behind him.

Armed police officers passed right through my intangible soul as they stormed into the house. After a thorough search yielded nothing, Denver glared coldly at my parents.

“Where is Sheila?” he demanded.

My father clutched his wildly beating heart, his eyes full of confusion. “What’s going on? Sheila isn’t here.”

Denver’s eyes were filled with suspicion as he responded, “Stop covering for her. The arson and murder case this morning has been confirmed—she’s the one who did it!”

My parents were visibly shocked. “Impossible! Sheila would never harm anyone, let alone commit arson! You’ve got it wrong.”

But Denver was resolute. “Stop lying for her. Hand her over now!”

I was bewildered. Why would Denver bring the police to arrest me? Seven days ago, I died for unknown reasons, and my soul somehow returned to our home. How could I have committed arson and murder this morning?

Denver's expression was stern as he continued.

“Micah saw it with her own eyes—Sheila set the fire and then fled the scene. If you shelter her, you’ll all face jail time!”

Upon hearing him, I was filled with disbelief. So it was Micah slandering me again.

Disappointment filled me as I gazed at the man I had loved for five years.

In his heart, was I truly so malicious?

When my parents tried to defend me further, Denver pulled out his phone and began recording them.

“Sheila, are you going to let your parents go to jail for protecting you? If you turn yourself in now, the police might overlook their involvement in hiding you!”

After speaking, he even sent the video to me.

But how could I, a mere soul, respond?

Angered by Denver’s callousness, my father, who already had a weak heart, collapsed on the floor. The house descended into chaos as someone frantically dialed 911.

After emergency treatment at the hospital, my father regained consciousness. Despite prolonged questioning, the police left without any leads.

Denver, however, punched the wall in frustration. “That poisonous woman Sheila must be in hiding because she’s afraid of going to jail!”

Storming out of the hospital room, he turned back to my parents and issued a cold threat. “Convince Sheila to surrender and apologize to Micah, or I’ll divorce her!”

Then, without waiting for a response, he left.

My mother broke down in tears, and choked out“Our Sheila was burned on her arm as a child and has been terrified of fire ever since. She couldn’t possibly have done this!”

“They’ve been married for three years. Doesn’t Denver know her well enough to see she wouldn’t do this?”

Bitterness swelled in my chest. Everyone, including my own husband, believed Micah’s accusations.

Only my parents stood by my innocence.

The next day, my parents returned home from the hospital, only to be confronted by a barrage of insults.

The door was pounded furiously.

“Zandro! Sunshine! Your daughter really committed arson, didn’t she?”

“If the police came for her, she must be guilty! People from the countryside are heartless!”

It was Patricia, our downstairs neighbor, shouting mockingly. She’d always compared her daughter to me but resented that her daughter fell short. Her bitterness drove her to constantly ridicule us for being from the countryside.

My mother, furious and frustrated, shouted back, “My daughter didn’t set any fire! Stop spewing nonsense!”

But Patricia raised her voice even louder, calling out to the entire neighborhood.

“Everyone, the Rodriguez family raised a murderer!”

My mom’s face turned bright red with anger. Just as she was about to defend me, Patricia cut her off with a sharp voice.

“Sheila might look innocent, but deep down, she’s a cold-blooded murderer!”

“You know how we figured out how your daughter set the fire? It’s all thanks to your righteous son-in-law. He’s been going door-to-door in the neighborhood the past few days, looking for her!”

On hearing this, my fury flared. It was Denver again!

He trusted the lies of his childhood sweetheart and framed me for arson. He even accused my parents of hiding me, driving my father to the hospital. And now, he was tarnishing our reputation throughout the neighborhood.

This man was heartless!

Because of Denver’s actions, my parents could no longer endure life in the neighborhood. My father decided it was time to leave.

“Our daughter didn’t kill anyone,” he said firmly. “We’ll go back to the countryside for now. Once the truth comes out, we’ll return.”

As they packed their belongings and reached the neighborhood gate, they ran straight into Denver.

My mom, desperate, stepped forward and pleaded. “Denver, could you please...”

Before she could finish, Denver grabbed hold of them.

“You’re trying to run away?!” he snapped.

His loud accusation drew the attention of the neighbors, who quickly gathered around.

“Isn’t that Zandro? What’s going on?”

“His daughter committed arson and injured people. Now he and his wife are hiding her!”

My parents, who had always been kind to others, were now being condemned publicly. Tears streamed down their faces.

“Our daughter didn’t hurt anyone…” they sobbed.

Denver raised his voice for all to hear. “They’re harboring a fugitive and trying to flee. If anyone sees Sheila, report her to the police immediately!”

The crowd pointed and whispered cruel remarks.

“I knew these two weren’t decent folks.”

“Hiding a murderer—don’t associate with their family anymore.”

My father grabbed Denver’s arm, his voice shaking as he tried to explain, “We’re not running away! People have been insulting us, and my heart can’t take it. We just wanted to stay in the countryside for a while.”

His face, lined with wrinkles, was full of hope, as though he still believed Denver might trust him.

But Denver’s expression was stern and unyielding. “Don’t try to fool me. I’m taking you to the police station. Sheila nearly killed Micah, and I won’t let this slide!”

He shoved my parents into the car with such force that my mom’s head slammed into the doorframe. Her forehead swelled instantly, and she fainted on the spot.

Denver, however, showed no concern. Instead, his expression turned cold and accusatory. “Stop pretending to be pitiful! Don’t think you can trick me with this act!”

Even as my father begged him to go to the hospital, Denver drove straight toward the police station.

I had thought he just didn’t trust me, but I hadn’t expected him to be this ruthless toward the elders who loved and cared for him.

Fury and heartbreak consumed me as I lashed out, slapping Denver’s face with all my strength.

“Denver, you heartless bastard! How could I have ever loved you?”

But my ghostly hands passed right through him, unable to hurt him at all.

Before we reached the police station, a crowd of reporters surrounded the car, blocking the road.

I remembered the phone cameras in the neighborhood earlier—someone must have uploaded the footage online.

The reporters bombarded Denver with questions as soon as they saw him.

“Dr. Watkins, is it true your wife is the arsonist? Will you shield her?”

Denver replied with righteous indignation, “I’m a law-abiding citizen. I would never protect a criminal!” He pointed at my parents and continued, “These two are her parents. They’ve been hiding Sheila and were trying to escape, but I caught them.”

The reporters turned their attention to my parents, thrusting microphones in their faces.

“Where are you hiding the murderer?”

“Several children were injured in the fire. How can you still protect her? Don’t you feel any guilt?”

The relentless flashing lights hurt my parents’ eyes. My mom struggled to defend me.

“Our daughter didn’t set the fire. We...”

But before she could finish, the reporters interrupted her with an onslaught of accusatory questions, each sharper than the last.

“Did you know about Sheila’s arson plans in advance?”

“Were you involved in helping her escape after the crime?”

“Did you plan to hide this all along and use the chance to escape?”

The microphones thrust in my parents’ faces bombarded them with accusations, leaving them speechless. My parents, never skilled with words, couldn’t even get a chance to defend themselves against the aggressive reporters.

I tried to shield them, stepping in between the reporters and my parents, but it was useless. My incorporeal hands passed right through everyone. I turned to glare at Denver, who stood by, indifferent and unmoved.

What a heartless man he was—a monster in human form!

The reporters jostled my mom so hard that she stumbled and fell to the ground. Only then did Denver shoo the reporters away. Yet, even after all that, he still sent my parents to the police station.

The next day, they were released due to a lack of evidence connecting them to me.

When Denver learned there were no results, he erupted in anger. “Even if you don’t talk, I’ll find Sheila myself and make her pay for what she’s done!”

My mom’s steps were shaky, and my parents’ hair had turned white overnight from the stress.

Unable to reach me by phone, my mom broke down into tears.

“Do you think something’s happened to our daughter? Why has she gone missing?”

My dad clenched his teeth. “We’ll turn to the internet for help.”

“I heard from Eric that his granddaughter’s dog went missing. They posted online, and it wasn’t long before they found it.”

“Our daughter is a living, breathing person. Someone must have seen her.”

My mom nodded, her voice trembling. “Alright, let’s try.”

My dad held up a photo of me and spoke into the camera.

“This is my daughter, Sheila. She’s twenty-seven years old.”

“We can’t get in touch with her. Please, if anyone has seen her, help us find her.”

My dad wasn’t a social media influencer, and only a handful of people joined the livestream at first. But he repeated his message over and over again.

As more viewers joined, my dad—an elderly man past his prime—got down on his knees.

“Please help us,” he begged. “She’s our only daughter.”

“We’ll give a reward—everything we have—for any clues.”

My mom, unable to hold back her despair, bowed her head repeatedly to the camera, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded.

“Please, I’m begging you, help us find our daughter. She’s only twenty-seven...”

The livestream chat was soon filled with support.

[Don’t worry, I’ve shared the photo with all my friends.]

[Uncle and Auntie, please take care of yourselves. We’ll help you find her!]

I watched my parents with tears flowing uncontrollably down my cheeks.

I wanted to tell them the truth. I was already dead. They didn’t need to waste their efforts searching for me. But they couldn’t hear me. All I could do was watch helplessly as they begged over and over for help from strangers.

Not long after, the atmosphere in the livestream shifted. A flood of hateful comments began to pour in.

[Scammers!]

[Don’t believe them! Their daughter is an arsonist.]

[There’s a witness who testified against her, and it’s live right now—it’s her husband, Denver, turning her in!]

My parents froze, stunned by the sudden backlash. My mom quickly searched online and found Denver’s livestream.

Denver’s voice was sharp and accusing. “Sheila is the arsonist. She was caught in the act and fled the scene.”

“Her parents are hiding her and pretending to search for her. Don’t fall for their lies.”

I stood there in disbelief, despair clawing at my heart.

The officials quickly shut down my parents’ livestream, and their personal information was soon exposed online.

My mom’s lips quivered as she whispered, “Why doesn’t Denver believe us?”

I clenched my fists, fury and helplessness boiling within me. I had never told my parents the truth—that Denver’s heart had already moved on to someone else.

Micah, his childhood sweetheart, had grown up alongside him. Six years ago, she married a wealthy businessman but returned a year ago, claiming she had been abused and was now divorced.

I felt sympathy for her and treated her like a friend. But she had repaid my kindness by framing me at every turn.

When I brought her food, she accused me of poisoning it.

“Denver, my stomach hurts so much...” she would cry.

“Sheila, Denver and I are innocent. Why would you try to poison me?”

Time and again, Micah poured filth on my name and set traps to ruin me. And Denver—he chose to believe her every time.