My Husband Died Three Years Ago

Barely a week after my return from the trip, the live-in help, Skylar Reed, dragged my husband and me to court.

In the courtroom, her voice, thick with manufactured misery, resonated as she clutched her visibly pregnant belly. “Genevieve and Marcus Sharpe are monsters! They hired me under false pretenses, only to hold me captive and abuse me!”

She let out a choked sob. “The baby in my womb is the wicked child of Marcus Sharpe!”

Her mother, Brenda, wailed hysterically beside her. “These demons ruined my daughter! They deserve the death penalty!”

The gallery erupted. Every face in the packed courtroom was contorted with disgust and rage directed at us.

“The bastard is too arrogant—he won’t even show up for the hearing! Lock him up!”

“Look at his wife, though! She’s actually smiling! She has no soul! They should both rot!”

In the next second, I presented my evidence, and the collective gasp from the room was the only thing that cut through the noise.

1

I was barely back in the penthouse, still jet-lagged from two weeks in Tuscany, when I instinctively grabbed my phone to scroll through my local social apps.

A help request on a neighborhood forum instantly snagged my attention.

I tapped on it. The title made my finger freeze: My Employer’s Husband Assaulted Me - What Do I Do?

The description that followed made me frown, a cold knot forming in my stomach.

I was hired a short while ago, and the wife immediately told me she was leaving on a vacation and that I was to stay alone in the house.

But the second she left, the husband came back…

The word “vacation” hit me like a physical shove. I had just returned from a trip, and yes, I employed Skylar.

I scrolled down.

He dragged me into the bedroom. I was terrified, I couldn’t fight back. Afterward, he threatened me, said if I told anyone he’d destroy me. I’m so scared.

Now I know I’m three months pregnant. The wife is back, and I don’t know what to do.

Oh, and he told me the wife knew about everything and was perfectly fine with it.

The comments section was already a dumpster fire of outrage:

Call the cops, sister! Don’t let those two perverts get away with this!

A husband and wife conspiracy? That’s sick!

It’s been too long to be clean. Don’t go to the police yet—talk to them privately first. See if you can get a payout.

I scrolled to the last comment. The original poster had hit the “Like” button.

And then replied: Thank you for the advice. I’m going to try to talk to them first.

Just then, Skylar, who had been quietly wiping down the marble countertops, spoke. “Mrs. Sharpe, there’s something I need to tell you.”

My heart sank, the thread from the forum posting still fresh in my mind. I kept my face smooth, betraying nothing. “Go on.”

Her voice was hushed, almost a whisper. “I’m pregnant. Three months.”

“It’s… it’s Mr. Sharpe’s.”

I felt a sudden, dizzying lurch. The word absurd flashed in my mind. The Mr. Sharpe she was referring to was Marcus, my husband.

I asked the question almost on instinct. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying right now?”

Skylar nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Mrs. Sharpe, please, don’t worry. I have no intention of breaking up your marriage.”

“All I need is five million dollars for the child’s future and another two million as compensation for my personal pain and suffering.”

“After that, I promise I will never bother you or Mr. Sharpe again.”

It sounded courteous, an offer of a quiet, clean exit. In reality, it was a brazen demand for an obscene amount of money.

Looking at her earnest, tear-streaked face, I felt a surge of cold amusement. I knew, with absolute certainty, that Marcus was incapable of what she was claiming.

I steadied myself, met her eyes, and spoke slowly, deliberately. “This is extortion, Skylar. You will not get a single dime from me.”

Skylar’s brow furrowed slightly. She tilted her head. “As a woman, you should know that no one risks this kind of scandal for a lie.”

“Besides, this is pocket change for you. I don’t want to make things ugly.”

I scoffed. “I don’t lack the money. But I absolutely refuse to be a mark.”

Seeing my resolve, Skylar’s voice rose sharply, her eyes narrowing. “Are you sure about that? Fine. Then I’ll go public! The forums, social media, your husband’s company—I’ll hit every target.”

I met her stare. “Be my guest. I welcome it.”

Skylar glared at me. “All right. Let’s see if you’re still so brave when we stand in front of a judge!”

She spun around, slamming the door behind her so hard the expensive glass rattled in its frame.

Skylar posted a heavily edited clip of that conversation online, instantly causing a viral sensation.

The thread was shared millions of times. The comment sections were full of venomous insults directed at me: vipers, human trash, accomplice.

Less than a week later, the subpoena arrived.

I arrived on time for the hearing.

As I stepped into the courtroom, I saw Skylar and her mother sitting at the plaintiff’s table.

When I walked past, Skylar quickly lowered her head, shrinking her shoulders in a pathetic display of fragility.

Her mother, Brenda, immediately wrapped an arm around her, glaring at me with raw hatred. “Don’t worry, darling, Mommy is here.”

“With all these people watching, those heartless devils will finally get what’s coming to them!”

I stopped in front of them and nodded slowly in agreement. “You’re right. The wicked shall reap their due.”

Skylar’s eyes fluttered open for a split second.

I didn’t say another word, walking straight to the defense table.

The judge’s gavel slammed, and the court was called to order.

The plaintiff’s attorney rose first. “We will begin with the victim’s account of the incident.”

Skylar sniffled, her voice catching as she began. “Mrs.—no, Genevieve tricked me into coming to her house under the guise of an employment ad. At first, she said she lived alone and just needed me for meals and cleaning.”

“After about a month, she told me she was going on vacation and that I was to stay behind. Before she left, she gave me a drink. After I finished it, I felt dizzy. Then, her husband came back… and dragged me into the bedroom.”

Tears streamed down her face as she spoke. “That man held me down on the bed and… and assaulted me.”

Skylar’s testimony instantly set the courtroom ablaze.

The gallery hissed with moral outrage.

“He’s an animal!”

“This is a blatant conspiracy between a husband and wife!”

Ignoring the deluge of curses, I stood up and spoke in a cold, clear voice. “My husband is absolutely incapable of such an act!”

I looked directly at Skylar. “If this happened, why didn’t you immediately call the police?”

Skylar answered, her voice trembling with emotion. “He told me if I dared to say anything, he would make sure my family and I would never have a day of peace again.”

“I’m just domestic help. How could I ever fight against people like you? It wasn’t until I realized I was pregnant that I found the courage to finally seek justice…”

A wave of hushed, angry whispers rippled through the gallery. Curses drifted my way.

“He’s worse than a beast!”

“The wife is just as guilty—a wicked accomplice, covering up a rapist!”

Skylar’s mother seized the opportunity, dissolving into theatrical sobs. “My daughter’s life is completely ruined!”

Through her tears, she shot a quick, fleeting glance of triumph at me.

I narrowed my eyes and raised my voice. “You are lying. My husband did not assault you.”

The plaintiff’s attorney immediately interjected. “Your Honor, we have key evidence.”

Under the glare of the entire court, he took a USB drive and plugged it into a laptop.

A moment later, a recording played over the courtroom speakers:

First, a quick cry: “Mrs. Sharpe! Help me!”

Then, a man’s deep, mocking chuckle: “You’re asking Genevieve for help?”

“It looks like you haven’t caught up yet. Her leaving was just clearing the house for us. Just do as you’re told, and money, work, anything you want is yours… Be a good girl.”

This was followed by Skylar’s broken sobs and the sound of a struggle: “No! Please, stop! I promise I won’t say anything! Please!”

The recording cut off abruptly with Skylar’s sharp, terrified wail.

Skylar was already covering her face, her whole body shaking violently as she wept.

Her mother leapt to her feet, pointing a trembling finger at the defense table. “You hear that! These devils planned this together! They lured my daughter into their home just to force themselves on her!”

The gallery was in an uproar. Some people were red-faced with fury.

“Those poor women! Stuck with this garbage couple!”

“Arrest the wife too! The accomplice is just as despicable!”

As the abuse washed over me, I clenched my fists. “How can you prove that voice belongs to my husband?”

The plaintiff’s attorney looked at me smugly. “The evidence is here. After technical analysis, the probability that this voice belongs to Marcus Sharpe is over 95%!”

Even facing this evidence, I rebutted forcefully. “Impossible. That is not my husband’s voice.”

I knew, with absolute certainty, that Skylar could not have encountered my husband.

The plaintiff’s attorney’s brow furrowed. “Defense, this evidence has been professionally authenticated. It can’t be dismissed by a simple denial!”

Skylar wiped her tears. “That was… that was the recording I desperately managed to start on my phone when he had me pinned down… Every word, every sob is real! How can you still sit there and lie through your teeth?!”

By the end, she was utterly hysterical, her fragile shoulders heaving with wretched sobs, appearing utterly pitiful.

I gave a cold smile. “There are many people in this world with similar voices. Why are you so certain it’s my husband?”

The plaintiff’s attorney sneered. “Since the defendant finds the evidence unconvincing, I have a second piece of evidence.”

He leaned down to continue working the computer.

A moment later, the large screen at the front of the courtroom lit up, beginning to play a video.

It was footage from my living room surveillance camera, time-stamped the night I had left for Italy.

The light in the living room was dim, but a man could be seen opening the door and walking in.

He went straight toward Skylar, who was standing in the living room.

“You must be Skylar? Hm. Genevieve wasn’t lying. You’re certainly… fetching.”

Before the sentence was finished, he had reached out and gripped Skylar’s wrist.

The bottle in Skylar’s hand dropped to the floor as she struggled weakly, her voice laced with terror: “What are you doing! Let go! Help me—”

The man easily overpowered her. After a few rough tugs, he hefted her up over his shoulder and strode into the bedroom.

The door was slammed shut with a thud.

Faint cries and sounds of struggle seeped from under the door, a terrifying match for the audio recording played moments earlier.

The video ended there.

The plaintiff’s attorney turned to the entire room, his voice heavy with sorrow. “This is surveillance footage taken from the defendant’s own home cameras!”

“Professional analysis confirms that the man in this video has a build and clothing that are highly consistent with Marcus Sharpe!”

He turned to me. “Defendant, are you still going to claim that this isn’t Marcus Sharpe?”

The gallery murmured with disgust.

“Open-and-shut! The footage is crystal clear!”

“She was so mouthy earlier—let’s see what lie she comes up with now!”

Someone was so enraged they jumped up and yelled: “What more is there to say to a conscience-less accomplice! Judge, rule now! Lock them up for life!”

Under the scorching, scornful, and furious gaze of every person present, I slowly stood up, my eyes locked on Skylar.

“You insist that man is my husband. So, I must ask you: Before that night, had you ever actually met Marcus Sharpe?”

Skylar stood, clutching her belly. “I worked in your house for three months! How could I not have met your husband?!”

“And he opened your front door like it was his, and his appearance and clothes all match! Who else could it be but your husband?”

The crowd roared their disapproval at me.

“The audio and video evidence are right there! She’s still denying it!”

“Vicious! Helping a rapist bully a vulnerable girl—it’s repulsive!”

“Look at her. You can tell she’s rotten to the core. A pair of vile creatures, both of them!”

The obscene insults were unbearable, but I took a deep breath, scanning the faces in the room.

“I repeat, my husband did not assault her!”

I addressed the judge. “The opposing counsel’s identification is based solely on physical build and clothing, which is insufficient!”

“I maintain a reasonable suspicion that the man in the video is not my husband!”

The plaintiff’s attorney gave another sneer. “I see the defendant is determined to deny the undeniable!”

He pulled a document from his folder.

He projected the document onto the large screen.

Then, he announced loudly:

“This is the DNA paternity test report between the plaintiff’s unborn child and Marcus Sharpe!”

“The report confirms an indisputable biological parental relationship between the fetus and Marcus Sharpe.”

The document was a thunderclap. Compared to the video, which could still be disputed, this DNA report was ironclad.

Skylar slowly rose to her feet, her eyes red. “The evidence is complete. What more can you possibly say?!”

I pointed at the report, my tone utterly unwavering. “This report is fabricated. Skylar could never have obtained a DNA sample from my husband.”

Skylar lunged forward, eyes blazing. “You! How long are you going to keep making excuses?!”

“The hair sent for testing was pulled from his head myself, when he was assaulting me!”