My Husband Has No Hands

I coldly swept my eyes over Yvonne and her mother. "I want the entire questioning process to be recorded with a bodycam."

"You’re guilty! You’re feeling guilty!" Yvonne screamed while pointing at me. "You're afraid the officer will see the scratches on the back of his hand, aren't you?"

Looking at Yvonne's face that was twisted with excitement, the last bit of sympathy I had disappeared.

If I just let them go inside to have a look, this farce would be over.

But they were too greedy, too eager to solidify the "molestation" charge and too desperate for the so-called emotional trauma compensation.

Since they were so confident, even making up details like "calluses on the hands", "left hand grabbing the neck" and "scratches on the back of the hand", then I would help them.

I turned to the officer and said, "Okay, I'll cooperate with the investigation. But like I said, my husband can't move right now. I'll go to the police station with you to make a statement. As for the injury verification..."

I smirked mysteriously. "You can examine him as much as you want in court."

-

Being a famous influencer, Yvonne was a pro at editing videos.

That evening, a video titled "Rich Man Molests Innocent College Girl In The Elevator, The Wife Arrogantly Says: Sue Me If You Dare!" went viral.

In the video, she cut out all the parts that did not fit her narrative, only keeping the scenes where I laughed coldly and stopped the police officer from entering my apartment.

The caption was even more sensationalized: "So this is the power of money? Even the police can't go in! How can a weak woman like me protect her rights?"

The comments section exploded. Tens of thousands of negative comments flooded in.

[They're so arrogant! We have to dox them!]

[The man's hiding in his shell like a turtle. He must have the scratch marks!]

[That woman's no good either. She looks like a spiteful witch!]

[They need to be put behind bars! Stay strong, girl, we're all behind you!]

Even worse, someone dug up my phone number from the community's homeowner group.

My phone was instantly bombarded with all sorts of vile and abusive text messages.

Someone even photoshopped my husband's funeral photo and sent it to my phone.

Yvonne took advantage of the popularity and started a livestream.

In the livestream, she lay weakly in a hospital bed with a thick bandage around her neck, although the background was clearly a hotel. Jenny was next to her, wiping her tears.

"Thank you for all the well wishes... the doctor said I'm traumatized, I might... I might have depression..."

Yvonne choked up, "We don't want to take things too far. As long as they publicly apologize and pay us the emotional trauma compensation we ask for, we'll consider dropping the charges... After all, we should always be merciful when we can."

Watching all the donations and subscriptions pouring in on the livestream, I was so furious that my hands trembled.

Chris was lying on the bed. Although he did not have hands, he used his face to gently rub my cheek.

There was pain in his eyes, but there was also encouragement.

I took a deep breath, held his face and kissed the scars that had healed yet remained hideous.

"Don't worry, honey. If it's popularity they want, I'll give them a big boost."

I opened the X app, formerly known as Twitter, and registered a new account with the handle "Chris Gomez's Wife".

No nonsense, no sob stories.

I tagged Yvonne and posted a short tweet:

"Stop playing the victim. Forget a million dollars. If you can prove in court that those hands actually exist and have touched even just one of your fingers, I'll give you both my properties, both my cars, and 15 million dollars in cash on top."

This tweet exploded online.

[What the hell! 15 million?]

[This woman's crazy! She's giving away money for free!]

[She's betting that the man didn't leave fingerprints. So sneaky!]

[Can't wait to see her get humbled! Go for it, Yvonne! Take everything she has!]