Seeing that the situation was getting out of hand, the police stepped in to maintain order. One officer stared at me intently, his voice stern. "This incident has caused quite a stir and it's a very serious matter. The evidence is clear. Do you have anything to say?"
I didn't hesitate. I met the officer's eyes and spoke firmly. "I didn't kill my son. I would never harm him. Officer, I beg you. Please investigate this thoroughly. If you don't, the real killer will walk free forever. I'm not afraid to die, but I can't let my son's death remain a mystery."
The officer frowned. His gaze grew sharper and colder as if he were looking at an incorrigible criminal.
"We have thoroughly reviewed the surveillance footage. There is no sign of tampering. If you're not the murderer, then who is?"
Yeah, who exactly killed my son and framed me for it? This question has haunted me for two lifetimes. Even in death, I couldn't figure it out.
Seeing me at a loss for words, the crowd erupted into another wave of insults. "Why aren't you arguing now? Feeling guilty because you know you did it?"
"You killed your own son and you still have the audacity to play the victim? How disgusting!"