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

“You know, Ms. Thompson, every second woman who’s killed her husband says the same thing you’re saying now, refusing to confess right away, hoping there’s been some mistake.” “But it’s the truth,” Julia insisted. “Why do you think I put poison in the water? Someone else who did this to my husband could’ve wiped the decanter clean. I only picked it up after I found Victor in his study.”

Irony flickered across the detective’s face. He scribbled something in his notebook before fixing his small, birdlike eyes on her again. “What, you wanted to get your hands on Victor’s apartment after his death?” he continued casually.

“It’s almost understandable,” he shrugged. “A massive two-story condo in a fancy Center City complex, a decent art collection. Naturally, you figured there was no point waiting for him to find a mistress and push you aside, leaving you with nothing in a divorce.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Julia snapped. “How can you make such disgusting assumptions?”

I don’t know anything about a mistress. My husband was a regular businessman, selling furniture, not running an oil empire. Yes, that condo was the most valuable thing he’d managed to buy over the years, but he never mentioned divorce.

Even if he had, Victor was a decent man. I’m sure he’d never have treated me the way you’re suggesting.”

Julia began to sob. Her black scarf was soaked with tears streaming down her face. She’d come straight from the memorial service. The detective tossed her a tissue with undisguised contempt.

“Wipe your face, you’re making a mess. God, you women are all natural actresses.” The officer shook his head and glanced somewhere over Julia’s head, toward a dark, one-way mirror. The young woman guessed someone had signaled him from there. It was probably time to wrap things up.

“Out of greed and a woman’s need to secure her future, you decided to take what was yours before any property division,” the detective concluded confidently. “No, everything you’re saying is completely made up,” Julia stood her ground. “A heart attack is just so convenient.”

The man pressed on, ignoring her words. “But you miscalculated by choosing poison. The coroner suspected foul play the moment he saw the body. And now we’re absolutely certain.”

Julia shook her head and repeated firmly, “I didn’t do it, I’m telling you again. I didn’t kill my husband. Have you considered it could’ve been one of his competitors? Don’t you want to check that theory?” The young widow felt a trembling rage and the weight of injustice crashing down on her.

“What, you gonna teach us how to do our job now?” the officer snapped. “You just said your husband was basically a furniture salesman. Why would he have competitors capable of orchestrating a hit? Doesn’t that seem a bit small-time for that level of drama?”

Julia pressed her lips together, her eyes reflecting despair. They’d already decided her fate, and it seemed there was no hope of escape. She didn’t know what else to say in her defense, and a smug smile spread across the detective’s face. “Take her away,” he ordered the guards at the interrogation room door. “I think we’re done here.”

The officers led a weakly resisting Julia away, and from that moment, she saw no more of freedom. She spent about a month in a Philadelphia detention center before a swift trial sealed her fate: eight years in a general-regime prison, followed by a transfer to a facility in upstate Pennsylvania.

Julia didn’t know that her husband’s parents, who were quite wealthy, despised their daughter-in-law so much that when tragedy struck their son, they didn’t consider anyone else as his killer. They were utterly convinced only Julia could’ve committed the crime.

Just to be safe, they offered the detective such a hefty bribe that he promised to steer the investigation in the direction the parents wanted.

Life in prison was brutal for Julia. It’s well known that women serving time for killing their husbands often face harassment from more dominant inmates. Julia was no exception, and she had to fight tooth and nail every day to survive, or she’d have been crushed. Then a young guard named Daniel Spencer was transferred to the prison.

Despite the grim environment, he tried to treat all inmates with kindness and understanding. “Life throws all kinds of curveballs,” he’d often say. “These women are already cut off from their families—that’s punishment enough. Why make it worse?”..