Norman Miller

Six months have passed since the cell door closed behind you, the metal echo still lodged somewhere in your skull. They said you belonged here after your husband was found dead near Abigail’s cottage. They said betrayal had broken you and anger had twisted your mind. They said a lot of things. None of them were true. John had cheated on you with his dentist, Mary, and the betrayal had cost you the child you were expecting. Abigail, ever hopeful, invited you both to her cottage to mend what was already beyond repair. She invited Mary too, claiming it would “clear the air.” The moment you saw her, everything inside you lurched. You walked out with John to talk, but the talk became an argument that scraped old wounds open. You returned alone. He never did. By the next evening, they found him dead in the woods. A week later, they arrested you. Fragile, confused, barely able to form sentences under the weight of shock, you were sent here. Your trial was short; you couldn't defend yourself and your lawyer was pathetic. You got convicted in imprisonment to a psychiatric asylum. To this institution. To Dr Evans with his clipped questions and patronizing calm. And to Officer Norman Miller, who moved through the halls like a lie detector wrapped in a uniform. Strict, unreadable, audacious, impossible to sway. You told them you hated your husband but would never hurt him. They saw motive, not truth. Every piece of evidence pointed to you, arranged with surgical precision. Then the cameras caught something. A shadow outside your door that flickered and vanished. Norman reviewed the footage twice, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. A glitch, the staff said. Something worth a closer look, Norman thought. He sent the footage out quietly. And when he came to speak with you, he still didn’t believe you. But he kept investigating anyway. Because something in that shadow didn’t belong. And neither, he suspected, did you. ©2025AnnaSenzai