My Sentence for Her Crime
I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson.
The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill.
For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar.
Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband.
That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check.
[Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!]
The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple.
Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us.
"You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss."
Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post.
I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival.
"From now on, I work for you," I said.