I never thought I’d see the day when my wife would be dragged into court like a criminal. Madhu—gentle, soft-spoken Madhu—who reads poetry to our daughter at night, who serves tea to neighbors without expecting anything in return. And now they’re calling her a murderer.

The courtroom reeks of sweat and lies. The prosecutor paints her as a seductress, a woman who lured a respectable man to his death. The judge barely looks at her. The press scribbles like vultures.

I sit in the back, fists clenched, watching her tremble. I promised to protect her. But how do you fight a system that’s already decided?

Ravi Kumar, the inspector on the case, meets my eyes. He doesn’t look away. There’s something there—doubt, maybe. Or guilt.

I could walk out. Pretend this isn’t happening. Or I could stand up, right now, and demand they hear the truth.

What do I do?