On our wedding night, my wife was attacked in the bedroom. She screamed my name for help until her voice went hoarse.
I stayed hidden in the study with the door locked, never showing myself. After the attacker left, my wife couldn’t accept what had happened. She jumped out of the window and lost consciousness.
Even when my in-laws knelt and begged me to tell the truth, I insisted I hadn’t seen the attacker and refused to help with the investigation.
Five years later, my brother-in-law used his connections to drag me into court, where memory-retrieval tech replayed the crime. When everyone saw the truth, they went crazy.
——
Five years after the “wedding night assault,” I was brought in as the only witness and a suspect and the police interrogated me publicly.
Technicians would use the latest memory-retrieval tech to pull my memories and show them as images on a big screen, recreating the crime scene exactly.
To see the truth, tens of thousands of people crowded around the trial and the livestream drew an unprecedented 200 million viewers.
On the judge’s bench, Vincent, my brother-in-law and the police captain, spoke coldly. “Bring in the eyewitness, Erickson!”
The door opened and I walked out in a prison uniform with heavy shackles, escorted by the guards, my head lowered.
I had only taken a few steps when people threw rotten eggs and vegetables at me, cursing loudly.
“Coward! Your wife was attacked in front of you and you still dare to live!”
“Your wife has been in a coma for five years and the killer is still free—all because you wouldn’t tell the truth!”
“Is the killer your father? Is he really worth protecting?”
“Did you make some dirty deal with the murderer—sell out your wife for money or fame? You’re worse than an animal!”
The insults grew worse and some people even tried to break through the barrier to attack me. The bailiffs had to fire warning shots to keep order.
As I reached the center of the courtroom, Vincent suddenly drove his knee hard into my stomach.
Pain exploded through me and blood dripped from my mouth as I collapsed to my knees. No one felt sorry for me; instead, the crowd cheered.
Vincent grabbed my hair, pulled his face close and growled in my ear, “Erickson, when the truth comes out, you and that murderer will die miserably.”
His hatred was nothing like the bright, friendly young man who once called me “brother-in-law” when we first met.
Below the platform, my in-laws looked much older, leaning on each other as they stared at me with hatred in their eyes.
“Tasha loved you and gave you everything, yet you watched her suffer and still protected the killer, letting him go free!”
“Erickson, you monster, you deserve to die!”
When we discussed marriage, this well-educated couple never looked down on my poor background. They treated me like their own son and supported me in everything.
After the incident, they didn’t blame me at first. They understood I was scared and only encouraged me to tell the truth.
But even when they knelt and begged, I stayed silent. For five years, I was locked up as a suspect and tortured by Vincent every day.
