A pregnant woman discovered a wallet near her husband’s gravestone. When she opened it, she was paralyzed by what she saw inside…

The June sun warmed Julia’s back pleasantly as she walked along rows of marble headstones and monuments in various shapes and colors at a cemetery in Philadelphia. Strolling through the graveyard brought the woman no joy, but it was a grim necessity without which Julia simply couldn’t survive.

Carefully, so as not to disturb relatives visiting their departed loved ones, she inspected graves for candies, cookies, bread, or other edible items left behind. Some of the elderly homeless women sitting at the cemetery gates scolded Julia for this method of scavenging.

“Look, Julie, you keep wandering among the dead like this, what’s gonna happen to your little one? It ain’t right,” said Helen, an older beggar who’d lived on the streets for years. “Who knows what kind of shady stuff goes on here at night? What if some curse or evil eye latches onto your kid? Then you’ll be wondering why your son or daughter’s screaming like they’re possessed.”

But Julia brushed off such warnings. “Oh, Helen, no curse scares me anymore. After three years in prison, I’ve seen enough to scare off any witch or devil myself.”

Of course, the young woman was just putting on a brave face. If it weren’t for utter desperation and the lack of any decent job, her feet would never have stepped onto this land of sorrow. But, alas, she had no other choice. The thing was, for nearly seven months, a new life had been growing inside the 28-year-old’s womb.

Julia had been released from a prison in upstate Pennsylvania on parole just three weeks earlier, and the child she was expecting was the result of her relationship with a young guard. Only now did the former inmate begin to realize that, without her pregnancy, she’d still be far from freedom.

She recalled the cold stare of the detective in the Philadelphia police station when she, pale and exhausted from the stress of her husband’s funeral, had to face him for questioning.

“Julia Marie, we’ve got the results of the investigation,” the officer began in a dry, businesslike tone, “including fingerprints our team collected at your home.” “And?” Julia asked weakly. “Can you tell me what happened to my husband? Why did his heart stop so suddenly?” The detective looked down at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched, making Julia feel like he was mocking her. “You don’t have a guess, do you?” he responded with a question.

“Well, fine, if you prefer playing the victim, I’ll spell out the results for you, so there’s no doubt left: your husband was murdered.” “What?” the young widow gasped, stunned. “Murdered? That’s nonsense!”

“First, don’t raise your voice at me!” the officer barked, slamming his palm on the smooth wooden desk for emphasis. “Second, stop pretending you don’t get it. Your husband, Julia Marie, was cold-bloodedly poisoned. And we now know for certain it was you, because the only fingerprints on the decanter used in the killing belong to you.”

The blood drained from Julia’s face. Her hands and feet grew cold, prickling with goosebumps. Breathing became difficult, and it took several agonizing seconds before she could speak through bloodless lips: “That’s impossible! I’d never harm my husband. I loved Victor!”

In response, the widow heard the detective’s grating, hoarse laugh…