MY ONLY SIBLING IS DEAD

A cold body lay in front of me, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

When my husband, Charles, finally returned home and walked into the house, he was stunned to find me sitting beside my sister’s lifeless body.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked, eyes wide with shock.

Margaret had been healthy and strong that very morning.

The police later informed Charles that Margaret had called the emergency line, saying she was scared and needed to speak to an officer in person because her life was in danger. She had given them her address.

Unfortunately, when the officer arrived, the door was open, and no one was in the house except for the cold corpse of a young woman, a bottle of pills, and a suicide note on the table.

"Your husband is responsible for my pregnancy," it read.

Charles instantly denied everything, and to his greatest shock and disbelief, I defended him.

It surprised him because I chose to believe him rather than my own sister—even knowing there was a possibility that his perverted mind could think of sleeping with the young girl.

Moreover, he is a man who has no control over his sexual urges.

Yet I chose to believe him? Why?

I’m sure that question was all that ran through his mind after I defended him.

“There’s no evidence my husband did anything wrong,” I told the police. “If my sister died, and it was by her own hand then my husband is completely innocent.”

“Mrs Thompson, your sister left the note before she passed. We have reason to believe there may be more to this. I suggest a DNA test be carried out.”

The officer replied.

“What? That’s absurd,” Charles snapped. “She was like family to me—a younger sister of my wife. Why would she even write something like that?”

The officer raised an eyebrow, his pen poised over his notebook.

“That’s exactly what I’m here to figure out, sir. Were you having any sort of… inappropriate relationship with Miss Margaret?”

Charles was furious.

“Listen, officer,” he said sharply, “I’m a family man! I treated Margaret like my own sister. These accusations are insulting. She’s a teenager—a younger sister of my wife. What do you take me for? This is ridiculous!”

“No one is accusing you of anything yet, Mr. Thompson. But we can’t ignore the note. It explicitly points to you,” the officer replied.

Before Charles could say another word, I cleared my throat softly, drawing both their attention.

“Officer, with all due respect, I don’t believe my husband would ever do such a thing. I trust him,” I said with a faint smile.

The officer and Charles exchanged surprised glances. I’m sure my dry smile made them both uncomfortable and confused.

The officer turned his focus to me.

“Mrs. Thompson, I understand wanting to protect your husband, but the note—”

I cut him off.

“I know my husband. He’s not perfect, but he wouldn’t harm Margaret, and he certainly wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Like he said, she was only a teenager and like a younger sister to him. She must have been confused. Teenagers can be like that sometimes.”

“Confused? Ma’am, it’s difficult to dismiss that as confusion.”

I nodded.

“Yes, I understand. But I know my husband well, he wouldn’t harm Margaret or engage in an inappropriate relationship with her. She is my younger sister, there must be a misunderstanding somewhere.”

The officer raised a brow, unconvinced.

“Respectfully, ma’am, it's hard to ignore the note. The deceased explicitly pointed to your husband. Are you absolutely certain there’s no possibility of… tension between them?”

Charles bristled at the question.

“Are you even listening to her? My wife is standing by me! Doesn’t that mean anything? She knows I could never harm her sister. And what is your evidence? A note from the deceased that could have been forged? How are you even sure she wrote that note?”