Husband's Frame, Wife's Fierce Justice

s star prosecutor, the man who saved

framing me for a crime I didn't commit

man who went in, a successful graphic designer who loved her husband, died in there. When I wa

r me, the woman they put behind bars. They paraded me around, forcing

side, leaving me bleeding on the floor. He even falsi

ithering and dying. I couldn't cry. The feeling was too

lose everything. His career. His reputation. His

pte

ity loved him for it. On TV, he was charismatic and righteous. At home, he

was the man who

used my deepest, most private traumas against me, painting a picture of a woman who sn

ful, unstable corporate lawyer he felt eternally responsible for. He had made her

who went in, a successful graphic designer who loved her husband, died in there. The day Alec came f

id, his voice a low, convincing hu

it had de

l of rain and exhaust fumes, felt foreign after three years of recycled priso

pulled up, a gen

I didn't recognize got

asked, his voice

ooked at him with the same flat expression I' d perfected in my cell. My f

lled a small bundle of sage from his pocket and a lighter. He lit the end, and a plume of

voice was rusty, unused t

orders. He said... to cleanse the

even come himself. He' d sent a boy to perform a purification rite on me, as i

it?" I asked, the wor

lid into the back seat, the motio

e. Catalina, drunk and hysterical, behind the wheel of my car. My estranged f

sband, the prosecutor, expe

ed, pulling me away from the scene,

way possible. He detailed the years of abuse I suffered at my father' s hands, not as a tragedy I

, stripping me bare. I couldn't breathe. The world became a muffled roar, and all I co

. I was convict

I finally got to ask him why. His face was

her, Haven. Long ago.

ts and pieces of, an event for which he carried an immense,

n the door, "once she' s stable, it' ll be us aga

his career, stood by him through every late night and high-pressure case. I remembered the small things, the way he' d hold my h

eepest wounds, the ones I had only ever shown him, were just tool

e professional tone of a prosecutor again. "It' ll look

ng. "I still love you, Have

ds echoed in the s

dan, the scent of sage still clinging to the air. My eyes were dry. I hadn' t

We were in a trendy, upscale neighborhood, pulling up to

e window,

l

group of people. And then he turned, his

ali

nd he leaned down to kiss her che

Mr. Craig and Ms. Rowland arranged

put me in prison. Hosted by the