Who Killed the Wife? — A Short Story

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The courtroom was tense.

Judge Harold Wilcox — a man in his fifties, with a sharp voice and the build of a retired wrestler — adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. He’d presided over countless trials, but few drew this much scrutiny. Dabbing the sweat from his forehead, he took a sip from his glass of water.

The jury was seated — ten randomly selected people from different walks of life.

A woman was dead. A wife. A soon-to-be mother.

And the man on trial? Her husband.

Daniel Raynor — the husband — sat at the defendant’s table with a hollow stare. He hadn’t slept peacefully since the night he found her lying on the kitchen floor.

His eyes looked exhausted, from the kind of tears that come in waves — stirred by the memories of a loved one… their smile, their voice, some small, ordinary thing they used to do.

The room was packed. The media had covered the story like a restless hawk.

Three weeks earlier, Melissa Raynor became a headline. Found on her kitchen floor in a pool of blood. One clean stab to the abdomen. No signs of forced entry. No defensive wounds.

And the kitchen knife was missing.

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It was the prosecution’s star witness who provided the first solid lead.

“I saw a man leave their house around midnight,” said neighbor Greg Milner.

This matched the coroner’s estimated time of death: between midnight and 1 AM.

“Middle-aged. Big guy, broad shoulders. Didn’t see his face, but he moved like he knew the place.”

He described Daniel without describing him.

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The defendant’s main witness was Tara Levin — the victim’s friend and trainer.

She repeatedly insisted that Melissa and Daniel were happily married.

Until, the prosecution’s cross uncovered that Tara and Daniel knew each other from childhood — way before she met Melissa.

And then poked a hole into her portrayal of the happy marriage…

“Did Melissa ever mention Daniel acting violently?”

Tara looked at Daniel — as if asking for the right answer.

“Ms. Levin?”

“Yes… she said he hit her. Once.”

The cross-examination raised reasonable doubts in her testimony — and credibility.

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On the following days, many witnesses were called upon to testify. Each one built the prosecution’s case stronger.

The coroner confirmed that someone with Daniel’s physique was capable of inflicting such a fatal wound.

Former co-workers spoke of his temper, his mood swings, and the way he appeared possessive whenever Melissa’s name came up.

On the fourth day of the trial — when the jury appeared to have already made up their minds — the defense made a shocking move!

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“Defense calls Mr. Daniel Raynor to the witness box.”

The defense lawyer’s face said it all — this wasn’t a strategy, it was a forced move by the accused himself.

The jury gasped, and the courtroom erupted in whispers.

“Order! Order!” — Judge Wilcox slammed his gavel to restore silence.

Daniel stepped into the witness box.
The defense stepped forward for examination.

“Please state your name and relationship with the victim, for the record.”

“I’m Daniel Raynor. Melissa is… was my wife.”

Grief looks different on everyone. On Daniel, it wore a restrained shade — like doing its best to hold him together.

“How would you describe your marriage, Mr. Raynor?”

“I loved her. She was the only one who didn’t make me feel like a loser. We were married for 12 years. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

Daniel looked down — pushed back tears, and regained his composure.

The defense continued, “I know this is a difficult time for you, but for the jury’s knowledge — where were you on the night of the murder before returning home?”

“I was working late that night. I had called in to let her know that I would be coming back in the morning. But I couldn’t focus, so I decided to leave and reached home an hour past midnight…”

Daniel’s voice was shaking as if he were standing there again.

“The door was unlocked. First, I thought someone had broken in. I panicked and rushed inside, and then I saw her… lying on the floor… lifeless… blood all over. I didn’t believe myself… I didn’t want to.”

Daniel turned his face down, covered in his hands, sobbing quietly, but the subtle shaking of his shoulders gave it away.

Jurors looked doubtful, as if they were trying to decide if it was grief or guilt.

“Did you kill your wife?”

“No! I would never hurt her. She was the love of my life… she was my life.”

Two jurors shifted in their seats — appeared unsettled.

“No more questions, Milord,” the defense rested.

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“Mr. Raynor, did you know your wife was carrying someone else’s child?”

The prosecution struck right where it hurt.

Daniel didn’t respond. He appeared defeated, looking at the helpless defense lawyer.

“Mr. Raynor, answer the question. Yes or No?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Have you ever hit your wife?”

Daniel’s voice turned sharp for the first time.

“Yes, we fought. Yes, I was angry. But I never… never laid a hand on her after that one time. She threatened to leave, but I begged her not to.”

“Mr. Raynor, just a yes or no was sufficient.”

The prosecution continued, “Why didn’t you call 911 immediately? You waited 2 hours before making the call.”

“I was shocked… I didn’t want to believe it…”

“That was two hours, Mr. Raynor. Plenty of time to clean up… even hide a weapon. Why did you wait that long?”

“Objection! Asked and answered.”

“Overruled,” Judge Wilcox said coldly. “He can answer.”

“I… was hoping it was a nightmare and it would get over if I just waited. I was hoping to wake up feeling that relief —like it was all just a terrible dream.”

The prosecutor looked at Daniel, studying him like a human lie detector.

“Mr. Raynor, can you recall what time you left your work that night?”

“Ah… I don’t remember the exact time. Maybe at midnight?”

“No, Mr. Raynor, you left at 11:37 PM. The security camera footage proves it. It takes no more than 20 minutes to reach your home. That means you must have reached home right before midnight.”

Jurors noted it in their writing pads.

“No, I had checked the time before stepping out from my car at home, it was almost 1 AM…”

Daniel hesitated as if caught between staying silent and telling the truth…

“I know you are not going to believe me. But I stopped on my way home at a corner… I had left home that day on a bad note, so I was trying to pull myself together. I had a couple of cigarettes… if I hadn’t stopped, I could have saved her. I hate myself for it.”

“That’s very convenient, isn’t it, Mr. Raynor?”

The prosecutor paused for a moment — just long enough for the tension to settle — before delivering his next blow.

“You reached home right before midnight, you apologized for the morning, but she had decided to leave you. You couldn’t take it. You couldn’t control yourself from that humiliation… You killed her in that rage. Yes or No?”

“Objection! Badgering!” the defense stood up.

“Sustained. Mr. Raynor, you don’t have to answer it.”.

The judge reprimanded the prosecution and requested the jury to disregard the remark.

“My apologies, your honor. No more questions.”

But the words had already reached the jury— no instruction could unhear them.

Jurors exchanged glances.

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“Guilty!”

The unanimous verdict from the jury arrived in less than an hour.

Daniel looked around the courtroom like a drowning man — trying to find one pair of eyes that still believed him.

Tara let her tears roll down when her eyes met Daniel’s gaze and whispered to herself, “She told me you loved her. Even with everything that happened, she knew you loved her.”

Judge Wilcox’s gavel came down. “Court is adjourned.”

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Back in his chamber, the judge removed his robe with care.

He poured himself a drink with shaking hands.

He then reached down and unlocked a desk drawer.

Inside, wrapped in a handkerchief, was a bloodstained kitchen knife.

His eyes lingered on it.

She had told him that night — the truth he couldn’t afford.

He had begged her. Pleaded. But she wouldn’t listen.

It would’ve destroyed everything.

He closed the drawer.

And locked it.

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Author’s Note

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