The Accused

A flash fiction story on someone being accused of something they didn't do

Sara loved me. Ever since I was a child she looked out for me. Though she was a few years younger, it felt like I was the younger sibling.

She couldn’t have been happier when I got married to Jack. She gushed about us to everyone all the time. On our wedding day, there was a glint of pride in her eyes as we took our vows.

I soon realized Jack’s behavior before the wedding was a façade. He was rich beyond words and mean even beyond. Sadism ran in his blood. I turned to her for solace. The first time I told her, she barely controlled her rage.

We plotted to get rid of him. Sara had her ways and she gave me the poison. I hesitated for a few days. I had never taken a life.

One day, after a more than usual brutal beating from Jack, I knew I had enough. That evening, I slipped a few drops in his daily glass of whisky. Nothing happened at first; then he convulsed uncontrollably and collapsed on the table with his fingers still gripping his drink.

I called Sara and she told me to call the police. It would be an unexplained death, she said.

The police took their time and so did the forensics folk. Poison was found in Jack’s blood. Sara did her best to help me but no lawyer could do anything for me. I accepted my fate.

As I was led away from the court, I glanced back at Sara standing in the crowd. Her expression was a mixture of malevolence and glee. My knees buckled under me as I realized who she was holding hands with. My presumed dead husband was alive and well.