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.

Because of Micah, Denver trusted me less and less.

Now, it had escalated to the point where he fully believed Micah’s claim that I started the fire. And because Denver publicly revealed my family’s information in his livestream, trouble came knocking at our door.

“Hand over the arsonist!”

Relatives of the burn victims broke down the door and barged into my home, smashing everything in sight.

“My son got burned! You have to pay for this!”

My mom was shoved to the ground, and a burly man pinned my dad down tightly. “Tell us! Where are you hiding Sheila?”

My parents, who had lived their whole lives with dignity, were slapped and had their hair yanked. I was so furious my vision blurred, but there was nothing I could do to help.

Just then, Denver arrived. For a moment, I thought he would help my parents and put an end to the chaos.

He pulled out his phone. I assumed he was calling the police. But to my horror, he started recording instead.

“Sheila, you’ve injured people and fled. You think you can escape responsibility, leaving your parents to bear the consequences?”

“Do you even feel guilty for involving your family in your crimes?”

Denver stared directly into the camera, his eyes as if piercing through the lens to find me.

“I urge you to turn yourself in. Otherwise, your parents will continue to suffer shame and torment every day!”

After finishing the recording, he immediately uploaded the video online.

The response was swift and overwhelmingly hateful.

[That unfilial daughter deserves to die!]

[Denver is admirable for not covering up for a criminal. No wonder he's the director of the hospital. He's a true model citizen.]

[Poor guy, stuck with such a venomous wife.]

I stared at him with hatred so intensely I could barely breathe. How could he do this to my parents, who had treated him like their own son? I wished I could dig out his heart and tear it apart.

“Denver.” A soft female voice broke my thoughts.

I turned and saw the person I hated most—Micah.

She wore an expression of guilt and concern. “Did I do something wrong by saying Sheila started the fire? Maybe if I hadn’t, her parents wouldn’t be suffering like this.”

Tears streamed down her face as if she were genuinely sorrowful for my parents.

Denver gently wiped her tears away. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She hurt so many people and deserves to face justice.”

“If she had any conscience, she would turn herself in.”

Micah’s eyes shimmered with gratitude. “Denver, I’m so sorry for causing you trouble.”

Denver’s gaze softened, filled with warmth as he looked at her. “If it weren’t for you saving my life that night, I wouldn’t even be here. I owe you everything.”

“And this time, you were hurt because of Sheila. It’s my duty to take care of you.”

Micah’s face lit up with smug satisfaction, though she quickly masked it with a look of modesty. “It’s what I should do,” she said, her voice sweet and soft.

I froze in place, my thoughts racing. Micah saved Denver’s life?

But I was the one who saved him that night!

On my birthday, Denver left abruptly after answering a call.

“There’s an emergency at the hospital. Eat by yourself, and happy birthday,” he said and hurriedly left.

I was disappointed but understood his work was important.

When I noticed he had left his phone behind, I grabbed it and ran after him. That was when I saw him in a dark alley, unconscious and being beaten by a man.

“You dared to report me? I lost my wife and ended up in prison because of you. I’ll kill you!” The man, dressed in black, struck Denver repeatedly with a stick, shouting in rage.

I recognized the attacker—it was a man from a previous medical dispute involving Denver.

I wanted to call the police, but when I saw the man pull out a knife, ready to stab Denver, I panicked.

“Help! Someone help!” I screamed, trying to draw the man’s attention away.

The man turned and charged at me instead. I ran as fast as I could, shouting for help. “Someone’s trying to kill me! Help!”

The man caught up, knocked me to the ground, and started strangling me.

I fought back with all my strength, but my vision blurred as I began to lose consciousness. In those fading moments, I saw Micah hiding in a corner, watching everything unfold.

It dawned on me then—the hospital emergency Denver had rushed to wasn’t real. Micah had called him out to meet her, and that was when he crossed paths with the attacker.

Micah didn’t save Denver that night. She didn’t even try to help him or me. She just stood there, watching. And now, she was using my sacrifice to worm her way into Denver’s heart.

My mouth opened and closed a few times as I struggled to breathe. In my final moments, just before losing consciousness, I desperately hoped Micah would call the police.

But not only did she fail to report the incident, she twisted the truth and claimed the heroic actions I took as her own. She made Denver believe that she had risked her life to save him.

How absurd.

I regret it now—saving Denver that day. If I had let him die, not only would I still be alive, but my parents wouldn’t be suffering from online abuse, physical assaults, and relentless accusations.

I hate them both. Hate Micah. I hate Denver even more!

If I could, I’d strip them of their skins and bones and make them pay for what they’ve done!

At that moment, Denver’s phone rang.

“Mr. Watkins, we’ve found your wife...” someone said on the other end of the line.

For a brief second, joy flickered across Denver’s face as if he could finally breathe again. He interrupted the caller before they could finish. “Great, I’m coming right now!”

Micah’s expression tightened with unease. “They found Sheila?”

Denver didn’t notice her reaction. His joy quickly turned to anger as his face darkened. “Yes. She caused you to get burned. I’ll give her a piece of my mind!”

Not long after, Denver arrived at the precinct and met Chief Calloway.

“Chief Calloway, has she confessed?” Denver asked impatiently.

Chief Calloway’s expression was grave, and he hesitated for a moment.

Thinking I had refused to admit guilt, Denver’s anger erupted. “She’s ruined her parents’ lives with the online attacks, and she still won’t confess?”

Chief Calloway frowned and said in a low voice, “Follow me.”

Denver trailed after him, his unease growing as they approached the morgue.

At the door, Denver finally asked, his voice trembling, “Why are we here, Chief Calloway?”

Without a word, Chief Calloway led him inside and pulled back the white sheet covering the body.

The sight of my lifeless body made Denver’s voice tremble with shock. “Sheila?”