After three years locked away, I returned to learn my father had d!ed and my stepmother ruled his house. She didn’t know he’d hidden a letter and key, leading to a unit and video proving frame-up.

She didn’t.

“You’re out,” she said flatly.

“Where’s my dad?” My voice sounded unfamiliar—rough, too loud.

Her lips tightened.

Then she said it.

“Your father died last year.”

The words hovered, unreal.

Buried.
A year ago.

My mind refused to accept it. I waited for clarification. For cruelty disguised as a joke.

But she didn’t blink.