[City Police Station – Sara's POV]
"So, Miss Sara, why did you kill your husband?"
The officer leaned forward, one hand resting on the desk for support, his sharp eyes fixed on me as if he already knew the answer. He picked up a glass paperweight from the table and began to roll it between his fingers.
"Miss Sara, you've taken a lot of time to think. Now, tell us the truth."
He stepped closer, still holding the paperweight. Moving behind me, he rested his hands on the back of my chair and, without warning, spun it around so I was facing him.
"Officer, what… what are you doing?" I startled at his sudden movement and clutched the armrests.
But when our eyes met, my breath caught. His gaze felt like it was drilling into my soul, unblinking and cold. A bead of sweat slid down my temple as I instinctively averted my eyes.
"Oh ho… Dave, look at this," Marcus said with a mocking laugh, glancing at the other officer by the window. "Miss Sara's still shy around men. Didn't you find out she's been seeing another man? Highly likely they've already…"
He made a crude gesture with his hands, his smirk widening.
Dave, the officer near the window, flicked his cigarette out into the night air. "That bastard's already left the city. Don't worry — we've sent his details to every department, airports, transportation hubs… it's only a matter of days before we get him."
Marcus tapped the paperweight against my chair. "See, Miss Sara? Your lover's already in our grip. And since you're his partner in crime, you'll share the punishment. Now, confess."
"I've told you already — I didn't kill my husband!" I stood abruptly, my voice trembling but firm. "We loved each other. Why would I hurt him? And the man you're talking about isn't my lover. He's my husband's cousin, nothing more. He visits our home sometimes, that's all. Stop calling him my lover!"
Inside, my heart ached. I couldn't cry here, not in front of them, but I wanted to. I wanted to scream for the man I loved.
Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "I haven't heard a joke this good in years. Maybe you should start doing stand-up… in jail."
He opened a drawer, pulled out a photograph, and slid it across the desk toward me. "Look at this. Do you recognise this? I'm sure you do recognise it."
The photo showed a burnt hand — most of the skin charred black, but along one strip of unburned flesh, faint letters could still be seen. The tattoo started with an S. My name. Sara. The same tattoo my husband had carved into his skin before our wedding.
Tears blurred my vision. My fingers trembled as I picked up the photo, clutching it tightly. The tears wouldn't stop.
"Don't pretend you cared," Dave said coldly, tossing me a tissue. His smirk made it clear it wasn't out of sympathy. "If you truly feel sorry, confess. At least his killer can face justice."
"I didn't kill him," I whispered, shaking my head. "I didn't kill anyone…"
I wiped my tears and sank back into the chair, still holding the photo to my chest.
Marcus slammed another file onto the desk — a DNA report. "Still not ready to admit? Fine. Three DNA samples were found at your house. Your husband's. Yours. And a man's. I'm sure you know whose DNA that is."
But I wasn't listening anymore. All I could think about was my husband's hand — how it had always held mine. At our wedding. Walking through the streets. In the dark, when it was just us. Even in our most intimate moments, his hand was always there. Now…
"Miss Sara. Miss Sara!" Marcus's voice snapped me back. He was waving the report.
"There was a third person at the crime scene," he pressed. "Your lover. You and him killed your husband to clear the way for your little affair. Am I wrong?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but Marcus didn't give me a chance.
"You don't need to hide anymore. Everyone knows — you and your husband's cousin had an affair. Probably more than an affair, if you know what I mean. When your husband found out, he confronted you. Things got violent. You two killed him, burned the body… but that hand survived, and we found it."
His words weren't facts. They felt like a verdict, already delivered.
I steadied my breath and looked him in the eye. "Officer Marcus, it's one thing to suspect me, but don't state assumptions as facts. If you have evidence, arrest me. If not, stop harassing me. I've already given my alibi — I wasn't home at the time. Check the shopping mall's cameras."
I stood, clutching my bag. "I'm innocent. I didn't kill my husband. If your interrogation is over, can I leave now?"
I surprised even myself with how calm my voice sounded, though every nerve in my body screamed to slap him. Instead, I used his own rules against him.
Marcus exchanged a glance with Dave, then shrugged. "Fine. You can leave for now. But don't celebrate yet. We'll summon you again. Make sure you show up at that time, Miss Sara."
He gathered the photos and reports, not looking at me directly. But his face made it clear — he didn't believe a word I said.
I turned and walked toward the door. Just as I reached it, I heard Marcus mutter under his breath:
**Bitch… don't think we don't know. Sooner or later, we'll catch your lover.**
I didn't look back and stepped out of the interrogation room.
"Husband, I miss you so much." I sighed but I knew this wasn't over. It was just the beginning.