Chapter 2 The Girl I Thought I'd Saved

I rose to my feet and used my handcuffed hands to lift the hem of my shirt.

Justin lunged forward to stop me. "Westbrook, this is an interrogation room! What do you think you're doing?"

With my arm restrained, I simply grabbed the edge of my shirt and twisted my body in the opposite direction.

The sight they had expected never appeared.

Justin froze as he stared at my body, its skin resembling candle wax that had melted and then solidified again.

"Hodges, tell me something. Would someone who deliberately started a fire to murder another person suffer more severe injuries than the supposed victim?"

My grotesque smile was reflected in the glass.

The burns I had suffered six years ago stretched from my ankles all the way to my chin. More than 90% of my body's skin had been destroyed, and I had nearly died in that fire. Yet now, they were claiming that I had been the arsonist.

I had no idea what expression Tristan wore on the other side of the glass.

Realizing that I had discovered Tristan's presence, Justin escorted me away.

Tristan came chasing after us from the adjoining room. "Sabrina, you deliberately burned yourself to make them overturn the verdict, didn't you? You're willing to go this far just to frame Edith?"

Justin reacted faster.

He ushered me into another interrogation room and slammed the door shut behind us, locking it from the inside.

Outside, the officers who had rushed over escorted Tristan away.

As the commotion gradually faded, Justin wearily massaged the space between his eyebrows. "I should've been more careful just now. I didn't know Judge Hodges had been placed behind the glass. Tell me what really happened in that fire."

I studied his expression. "It wasn't just the fire. The entire story needs to be told again. From my perspective."

It was true that Edith had taken care of me in every possible way since childhood, but she had done so of her own accord, out of gratitude.

Our lives had not intersected at all until my elementary school organized a donation drive.

I had donated some unused stationery and books. Inside one of the children's books, I had casually written down my home address. A week later, I received the first thank-you letter of my life.

It was from Edith, who had received my donation.

Thrilled, I began exchanging letters with her. She told me about the interesting things that happened in her rural village, while I shared stories about life in the city. Eventually, she invited me to visit her village during summer vacation.

However, when my parents and I drove there, we witnessed a horrifying scene. Her mother had grabbed her by the hair and was beating her with a broom at the entrance to the village.

"Inviting guests over? How dare you invite people here without even asking me! We took you in and raised you for twelve years, and that still wasn't enough for you? Who do you think you are to invite guests?"

The broom eventually broke from the beating. Edith collapsed to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

That day, I cried and begged my parents to adopt her.

Twenty thousand dollars later, Edith was finally free of her birth family. Yet my parents insisted that she was simply my friend.

But at that young age, I did not understand the deeper meaning behind their decision.

A flicker of unwillingness passed through Edith's eyes. She fell to her knees before my parents. "Sir, ma'am, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life serving Sabrina and doing everything I can to repay your kindness!"

My parents hurried to help her up. "Child, we don't need you to repay us for anything. We did this simply because we wanted to make Sabrina happy."

Overwhelmed with the feeling that I had rescued another girl from a miserable life, I eagerly shared everything I had with her.

To protect her pride, we ensured none of our classmates at school knew about her background. Whenever anyone asked why Edith took care of me so devotedly, I simply explained that she loved me and wanted to treat me well.

I had no idea that other people saw me as an arrogant, overbearing heiress who treated Edith like a servant.

I had even less idea that my ex-husband, Tristan, saw us the same way.