My Husband Has No Hands

Molest? Pin against the wall? Hands all over?

I smirked, my eyes turning cold.

If they want to make a scene, then they better be ready for the consequences.

I went to the entrance and swung the door open violently.

The crying and shouting outside came to an abrupt halt.

Yvonne did not expect me to open the door. She froze for a second, then shoved the camera in my face.

"Chat, look! This is the pervert's wife! She finally shows herself!"

Jenny lunged at me like a mad dog, pointing at my face and shouting, "You shameless wench! Get your pervert husband out here! He touched my daughter! We won't let you off until you pay us a million dollars for emotional trauma!"

Yvonne, sobbing, added, "Girl, you're a woman too; how can you protect your husband after what he did to me? Look at the marks on my neck! They're left by his fingers when he choked me!"

She stretched out her neck to give the camera a close-up shot. The red, swollen finger marks were clearly visible.

"Look closely! This is evidence! This is undeniable proof of his wrongdoing!"

The neighbors pointed and stared, their eyes full of disgust.

Seeing the girl's greedy and scheming face, I did not panic; instead, I could not help but laugh.

"Evidence? Finger marks?"

I crossed my arms and looked down at the pair of clowns.

"Your name's Yvonne, right? You're saying my husband choked you and ripped your clothes with his hands?"

Yvonne straightened up and said with unwavering confidence, "That's right! His hands were shockingly strong and covered in calluses. They hurt so much! I'll never forget those hands!"

"Good."

I nodded, a glint of coldness in my eyes.

"Hopefully, when we get to court, you’ll still remember what those hands look like.

"Because my husband lost his hands in a fire five years ago.

"You said he choked you? With what? His imaginary hands?"

Hearing my mockery, Yvonne’s expression froze.

But only for a moment.

The next second, she acted like she had heard the funniest joke ever and shouted even louder into the camera, "Guys, listen to this! As expected of a pervert's family member! To defend the rapist, she's cursing her own husband to not have hands! Are you saying I was fighting with a ghost in the elevator?"

Jenny spat on the ground. "Ptui! Shameless! Making up lies to dodge responsibilities! I saw him downstairs with my own eyes. Your husband was wearing black. He had his hands in his pockets when he entered the elevator. How can he not have hands?"

I laughed instead of getting angry, leaning against the door to watch their performance. "Oh? You saw him with his hands in his pockets?"

"Of course!" Jenny said confidently, "Both hands were in his pockets! Quit acting like he's disabled!"

Yvonne helped by crying to the police.

That's right, the local police had arrived.

"Officer, don't listen to that woman's lies. That man was so strong back in the elevator!"

She gestured wildly, sobbing as she described the details, "His palms were so rough. His fingers were full of calluses. It hurt so much when the calluses scratched my thighs... and his left hand was especially strong. When it grabbed the back of my neck, I felt like my bones were gonna break!

"I fought back desperately and managed to scratch the back of his hand. There must be my fingernail marks on the back of his right hand! That's the proof!"

The police officer frowned as he took notes. When he looked at me, his gaze was laced with suspicion. "Ma'am, please ask your husband, Chris Gomez, to come out and assist with the investigation. We can find out the truth by just inspecting the injury."

I stood in the doorway, not budging.

"Officer, my husband’s physical condition is a little unusual. He’s undergoing sterile treatment so he can't be exposed to the outside air or be stimulated right now. You can investigate, but I request a lawyer to be present, and..."