On Valentine's Day, my mother-in-law was stabbed twenty times and left for dead. I took the killer to court. But my wife, a star attorney, chose to represent him, arguing for his acquittal. When I confronted her, my voice shaking with rage, she brushed it off with an infuriating calmness. "Derek's brother is just a college kid, Jacob. Can't you show a little compassion?" She continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Derek and I will bring him by to pay respects to your mother. Then you'll drop the lawsuit. Don't wait to lose in court and embarrass me." I looked at the photograph of the mutilated corpse, a sound clawing its way up my throat. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh, dark and hollow. She still didn't know. She had no idea it was her own mother who was dead. I had just arranged for the body to be taken to the funeral home when my wife, Miranda, arrived with Derek and his younger brother, Dylan. Derek surveyed the simple viewing room I was setting up, his face a mask of disapproval. "Come on, Jake," he said, shaking his head. "I know Miranda makes good money, but you can't just throw it away on a dead person like this. It's such a waste." Dylan, the killer himself, was even more brazen. He stepped forward and spat, a glob of saliva landing squarely on the shrouded form. "You think you deserve this, you old hag?" he sneered. A bolt of pure fury shot through me, and I lunged forward. Miranda shoved me back, hard, shielding the two of them behind her. "Derek and his brother are just speaking the truth," she snapped. "Your mother is dead. What's the point of wasting another dime on her?" I stared at Miranda, a cold wave of disbelief washing over me. It was surreal. From the moment her mother had been murdered, Miranda hadn't asked a single question, hadn't shed a single tear. Instead, when I sued the killer, Dylan, she announced she would be his defense attorney. She'd even pulled strings—and spent a small fortune—to get him out on bail. I had assumed Derek had somehow brainwashed her, twisted her logic until she was unrecognizable. But it was so much worse than that. So much more insane. She thought the victim was my mother. The absurdity of it was almost suffocating. Derek, wearing a smug grin, continued to needle me. "Seriously, Jake, you should go get a refund. This setup must have cost a few thousand, right?" He clicked his tongue. "Your mom was always trying to squeeze money out of Miranda when she was alive. Are you trying to do the same now that she's dead?" A look of pure disgust twisted Miranda's features. "What else would you expect? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." She didn't even glance at the body. "A woman as vicious and greedy as your mother… getting stabbed was probably what she deserved." My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "My mother has never done a single thing to wrong you. Don't you dare insult her." Miranda ignored me completely, turning to the funeral home director. "Cancel the service and refund the money. We're not doing this. You can dispose of the body however you see fit." Derek pointed towards a filthy drainage ditch that ran behind the building. "Miranda, honey, we should still be respectful of the dead," he said with mock solemnity. "Why don't we just place the body over there for a simple farewell? After cremation, we can scatter the ashes right into the ditch. A return to nature! We'd even save on an urn and a burial plot." He turned to me, his eyes gleaming with malice. "What do you think, Jake?" Miranda scoffed. "He should be thanking you for your kindness." Without another word, she ordered the staff to move the body to the edge of the foul-smelling ditch. I tried to stop them, but her men held me back, their grips like iron. I watched, helpless, as they placed my mother-in-law's body beside the sludge and grime. My heart ached for her. Miranda's father had died when she was just a child, and it was her mother who had worked herself to the bone to raise her, taking on the role of both parents. Her mother would eat nothing but stale bread for days just so Miranda could have tutors and attend the best schools. And this was her reward? To be denied even a dignified funeral? With a sickening thud, Dylan kicked the body. It tumbled over the edge and splashed into the murky water. He shot me a defiant look, his expression purely wicked. "Oops, my foot slipped. You're not gonna get mad, are you, old man?" Before I could even speak, Miranda shot me a venomous glare. "It was an accident, Jacob. Just get some water and rinse it off yourself. There's no reason to get so upset." I looked at the desecrated body, floating amidst the filth in the ditch, and the rage inside me curdled into a chilling calm. A slow, terrifying smile spread across my face. "You will regret this, Miranda." I hoped she would remember this moment—remember these exact words—when she finally learned that the corpse she was treating like garbage was her own mother's. … "What could I possibly have to regret?" Miranda said, refusing to spare another glance at the body. She switched to her sharp, lawyerly tone. "I'm here for a pre-trial settlement conference. I don't want to waste any more time on this nonsense." She gestured towards Dylan. "You will sign a forgiveness letter for Derek's brother. He's a college student. We can't let one mistake ruin his entire life." My voice was ice. "Never." My mother-in-law had been killed for no other reason than she'd caught Dylan stealing from Miranda's house and tried to stop him. He had stabbed her twenty times. To prolong her suffering, he had deliberately avoided any vital organs, letting her bleed out in agony. How could a monster like that ever deserve forgiveness? And how could Miranda, a lawyer and her own daughter, so callously defend the man who murdered her own mother? The thought was sickening. Her mother would never rest in peace. Miranda's patience snapped. "Jacob, this isn't a negotiation. It's a last chance!" she hissed. "I'm a star attorney. Even if this goes to trial, I have a dozen ways to get him acquitted. I'm just trying to spare you the humiliation of losing in my courtroom. It reflects poorly on me, you know. Everyone knows you're my husband." I remained unmoved. "If you're so worried about me embarrassing you, let's get a divorce." Her face flushed with fury. "Jacob! How dare you? You're threatening me with divorce over this petty issue?" She pointed at Dylan, who was now "helping" by poking at the body in the ditch with a stick. "So he accidentally kicked your mother into the ditch! Look, he's trying to clean her off now. He's showing remorse! He deserves forgiveness!" I followed her finger and my blood ran cold. Dylan wasn't cleaning the body. He was urinating on it, a triumphant, wicked grin on his face. I looked back at Miranda, at her contorted, ugly expression. She was a stranger. To call that vile act "cleaning"... what had happened to her? Where was the young, idealistic lawyer who once swore to fight for justice? It all started when Derek became her intern. Derek, who ignored evidence and built cases on pure conjecture. Miranda had covered for him, twisted the truth, and sent innocent victims to prison just to protect his fragile ego. I had warned her, told her it was wrong. She'd just claimed she was "mentoring a promising young talent." My disappointment was a physical weight in my chest. "I'll have the divorce papers drawn up. You'll have them by tomorrow." Derek stepped in, feigning concern. "Jake, come on. Miranda only spent Valentine's Day with me because she felt sorry for me being single. If that's what this is about, I apologize. Please don't scare her with talk of divorce. She'll take it to heart." His words were gasoline on the fire. Miranda's hand flew up and a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. "You are being completely unreasonable, Jacob!" she shrieked. "And let me tell you something. Not only will I not divorce you, but I will also exercise my right as your wife to issue a forgiveness letter on behalf of the family!" She immediately had someone bring her a pen and paper. Right there, in front of me, she scribbled out the letter, signing her name with a flourish. "And I will make sure you never even get a chance to testify," she snarled, her eyes burning with a cold fire. "You brought this on yourself, Jacob." After Miranda left, I paid a small fortune to have my mother-in-law's body recovered and properly cleaned. I hired new staff to prepare the viewing room again. Then, I had a lawyer draft the divorce agreement and called Miranda, telling her to come sign it. Derek answered the phone. In the background, I could hear Miranda's soft, breathy moans. "Jake, buddy," Derek said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Miranda's a little busy right now. Can't come to the phone." He paused, letting me hear a particularly loud cry from her. "She told me to tell you, don't even think about using a divorce to invalidate the forgiveness letter." He didn't hang up. He let me listen. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I recorded the call before ending it. If she wouldn't sign, I'd file for divorce. I submitted the application online, took a screenshot, and sent it to her. "See you in court." The day of the murder trial, I arrived at the courthouse to a notification on my phone: my divorce filing had been rejected. Of course. It had Miranda's fingerprints all over it. Then, another call came through. It was the funeral home. They told me the viewing room had been vandalized and the body had been forcibly removed. The director sent me a video. I opened it, and my vision went red. My mother-in-law's body was gone from the refrigerated coffin. In its place was the carcass of a large pig. Flanking the coffin were wreaths bearing my mother's name, with condolence ribbons covered in vile, obscene insults. Miranda and Derek arrived, fashionably late. She saw the video on my phone, and her voice was laced with pure malice. "This is what happens when you refuse to listen, Jacob." Her threat was clear. "If you insist on testifying today, you will never see your mother's body again." Derek pointed at the pig in the coffin on my screen. "See? A perfect match for your mother, don't you think? It took Miranda and me ages to find a replacement with just the right look." He chuckled. "Now all your relatives can kneel and bow to a pig. It's all the same, really. You'll get your real mom's body back after my brother is acquitted." I never imagined they could sink this low. It was all a desperate attempt to stop me from testifying because they thought the victim was my mother. As the direct next of kin, my refusal to forgive would override any letter Miranda wrote. My control snapped. I swung, my fist connecting with Derek's jaw. "You're less than human!" Miranda shrieked, throwing herself in front of him. "Jacob! Don't make me have you thrown in jail, too!" My eyes, burning red, locked onto hers. "The only ones who belong in jail are you two! Desecration of a corpse is a felony!" She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Did you forget who I am? I'm the lawyer here. I'll never see the inside of a cell. Your threats are meaningless." Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "So you need to decide. Do you want to testify, or do you want your mother's body back?" A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. "Miranda, has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, this isn't my mother's body we're talking about? Maybe it's yours." Miranda just rolled her eyes. "My mother is a kind, decent woman. She would never be so horrible that a sweet college kid would feel compelled to stab her to death." She pulled out her phone and started a video call. "One word from me, and your mother's corpse will be food for maggots." The screen flickered to life. It showed my mother-in-law's body being dragged toward the edge of a septic tank. As they moved her, a large, old burn scar on her forearm became visible. She'd told me about that scar once. When Miranda was a little girl, she'd knocked over a kettle of boiling water. Her mother had shielded her with her own arm, receiving a terrible burn. To keep Miranda from feeling guilty, she'd always told her it was just a birthmark. Derek's eyes widened for a split second before he recovered. "Wow, Miranda," he said quickly, pointing at the screen. "Jake's mom was a real copycat. It was bad enough she was always trying to dress like your mom, but now she even fakes a birthmark to match? How pathetic." The flicker of doubt in Miranda's eyes instantly vanished, replaced by her usual disgust. "Mine is a birthmark. Is that one a burn scar she got on purpose? The lengths some people will go to are just disgusting," she sneered. "I can't believe my mother ever called that woman a friend." My mom, a copycat? The truth was, my mother always felt sorry for my mother-in-law, raising a child on her own. Whenever she bought new clothes or jewelry for herself, she would buy a matching set for her. It was my mother-in-law who, out of gratitude, had always treated me with such kindness. A bitter wave of sadness washed over me. I had to stop this. "That is your mother, Miranda! And that isn't a birthmark. It's a burn she got protecting you!" Derek leaned in, whispering to Miranda, "It's bad luck, having a dead woman with the same 'birthmark' as your mom. We should get rid of it." He took the phone and spoke to the men on the other end. "Do it." I lunged for the phone, but Miranda swung her handbag, the heavy metal clasp striking my forehead. "Derek is right! Leave him alone!" Blood trickled down my face. On the screen, I saw a knife flash. They were carving into the already damaged arm, turning the scar into a grotesque, bloody mess. I was shaking with a rage so profound it left me breathless. "Miranda! Do you have any humanity left?" "The only one without humanity is you!" she screamed back. "You're the one trying to send an innocent boy to prison! I gave you a chance, Jacob. You're the one who threw it away!" She snatched the phone back and yelled into it, her voice cracking with fury. "Throw the body in the septic tank! Now!" Then she shoved the phone in my face, forcing me to watch as my mother-in-law's body disappeared into the filth. Satisfied, she looked at my face, twisted in anguish, and smiled like a conquering hero. Then, head held high, she took Derek's arm and walked into the courthouse. The trial began. The judge started by reading the facts of the case. "The defendant, Dylan Evans, following a conflict arising from a burglary attempt, did repeatedly stab the victim, Laura Collins, resulting in her death." Miranda's triumphant expression evaporated. Her face went blank. Laura Collins was her mother's name. She shot to her feet, interrupting the judge. "Your Honor, there must be a mistake in the victim's information. That name... that can't be right." The judge frowned, looking at her with a strange, piercing gaze. "The victim's identity has been confirmed, counsel. The deceased is your mother, Laura Collins." Every muscle in Miranda's face froze. She stammered, asking to see the case file. The judge slid it toward her. There, in black and white, was the name. Her mother. The victim. A smile, more gruesome than a grimace, stretched her lips. "But... my mom's fine. She's alive. How could she be... dead?" Her hands trembling, she fumbled for her phone and dialed her mother's number. From the evidence table, a phone inside a plastic bag began to ring. The ringtone was a cheesy pop song Miranda had set for her mom years ago as a joke. Tears finally streamed down her face. She spun around, her eyes wild, and shrieked at me. "Jacob! What did you do? How did you bribe all these people to lie to me, to play this sick joke?" Her voice broke. "She was just talking to me a few days ago! She was going to bring me lasagna! How can she be dead?" I met her gaze from across the courtroom, my own eyes cold and hard. "I don't have that kind of power, Miranda. And last I checked, slander is a crime. You're an officer of the court. You should be careful with your accusations." I had told her. More than once, I had tried to tell her the truth. She was the one who refused to believe it. She was the one who had committed those unspeakable acts.
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