"My wife hasn't been well. She's been under a lot of stress lately, and her mental state has become... unstable. I apologize for the trouble."
He sighed, the picture of a weary, concerned husband.
"It's so late. I took my eyes off her for one moment, and she slipped out."
The officers exchanged glances, their gazes shifting between us.
I fought back immediately, my voice rising.
"He's lying! My grandfather is still in the hospital—go see for yourselves!"
"He's in on it too. Don't believe a word he says. I'm telling the truth. Freya forced the demolition and had people beaten!"
"I'm an attorney."
Charles produced his credentials, unhurried, unruffled.
"I trust you'll take my professional integrity into account."
The officers examined his ID carefully, then handed it back.
"Take your wife home. Keep a closer eye on her. Make sure she doesn't wander off again."
No matter how I tried to explain, no one believed me.
Charles brought me back to the house.
This home—built in the name of love—had become my prison.
I opened an app, logged into my account, and posted everything online.
If people paid attention, maybe Grandpa still had a chance.