Framed By My White Lies
The victims' enraged families cornered me outside my parents' house and stabbed me multiple times, demanding my life as payment.
My own family, ashamed of the scandal, cut ties with me. I served an eight-year sentence for gross negligence in the performance of my duty.
After my release, I sought refuge in the quiet coastal town of Port Willow, making a meager living as a fisherman. Finally, there was a measure of peace. But that hard-won serenity shattered the moment my ex-wife, Seraphina Sera Albright, arrived.
She was now the celebrated Police Commissioner of Cresthaven, famed for her string of high-profile cases. A relentless storm lashed the coast, and a swarm of reporters pressed against my small wooden cabin, shouting.
"Mr. Kincaid, sources say the Commissioner remained unmarried for eight years, waiting for your return!"
I stared at her, standing there in her rain-slicked glory, and the urge to laugh was overwhelming and bitter. No one knew that the one who had manufactured the case, built the evidence, and pushed me out to take the fallall to elevate her lover, Brandon Colewas this very same "devoted" Commissioner Albright.
1
The cabin door remained locked, and the reporters, seeing this public snub, were audibly sympathizing with Sera. She, however, appeared perfectly composed.
The rising volume of the crowd finally drew Frankie, the owner of the fishing boat, out of the cabin. He approached Sera, visibly terrified, bowing slightly.
"Commis Commissioner Albright, were all honest, hard-working people here," he stammered. "This town cant handle a person of your stature. If you and all these cameras don't leave, we'll lose tomorrows haul."
He then turned toward the cabin and called out, a plea in his voice: "Rhys Kincaid! The Commissioner came all this way for you. Just step out and talk to her!"
"That won't be necessary. Don't pressure him," Sera's cool voice cut in.
At the sound of her voice, my hands froze. The sharp nylon mesh of the net sliced a deep, ragged line across my index finger. Even after all these years, hearing her voicethat practiced, even tonestill stripped away my hard-won tranquility. I knew her better than anyone. The possibility that she was here out of some lingering affection was as absurd as the sun rising in the West.
I knew she wouldn't leave until she got what she came for. Thinking of Frankie, and the small kindnesses hed shown me, I let out a long, heavy sigh. I put down the net and stepped out of the small shack.
The instant I appeared, the reporters swarmed. A barrage of questions. Rapid fire.
"Whats it like, going from decorated Detective to dockside fisherman?"
"Is your avoidance because you still resent the Commissioner for exposing your negligence?"
"We hear your former protg, Brandon Cole, has proposed to her multiple times. Any comment on that?"
The manic energy pushed them forward. Microphones jabbed my face. My eyes sought hersSera was standing a few feet away, watching the spectacle with a cold, assessing gaze. I felt a chill lock up my muscles. Question after cutting question hit me, but I couldn't form a single word. My throat was dry. Nothing.
The reporters, frustrated by my silence, grew more aggressive, nearly shoving me over. Then, Sera moved. She pushed through the crush of bodies and stood directly in front of me, shielding me. Her voice was low, yet commanded instant silence.
"Everyone," she said, "this is a private matter between Mr. Kincaid and me. We won't be answering any questions." She gestured toward the docks. "They have work to do. Let them get back to it. Clear out."
The crowd dispersed grudgingly. I let out a breath I didnt realize Id been holding, ready to bolt back inside.
"Rhys Kincaid," Sera said.
I forced myself to meet her eyes, my body rigid. "Is there something else, Commissioner Albright?"
She flinched, just a hairline tremor at the formality of the title. She took a moment, then asked, her voice soft, "Have you been well? All these years?"
The question, coming from her, was so wildly, obscenely ridiculous I almost laughed. But the moment wasn't for humor. She took a step closer, lifting a hand toward me. My body reacted instantly. I stumbled back, not noticing the metal bucket beside my feet.
CLANG!
I fell hard and gracelessly, flat on my back. The fresh cut on my finger struck a jagged rock, and bright blood welled up and ran down my palm.
Sera rushed forward, her face a mask of concern, reaching for me. "Are you hurt? Let me help you up."
I scrambled away from her touch, bracing myself against the rough wood of the cabin to stand. "I'm fine." Ignoring Frankies stunned gaze, I hurried to dismiss her. "Commissioner Albright, if thats all you came for, I need to get back to work. Im out on the water before dawn."
Sera's expression fractured into something that looked convincingly like pain. She reached out again. "Rhys, do we really have to be this cold to each other? You don't know what I've been through these past years"
A new voice cut her off. "Mommy! Dad and I missed you so much!"
A boy, maybe nine or ten, barreled straight into Sera's arms. Brandon Cole approached, steering my parentsRobert and Susan Kincaidby the elbow. He gently took the hand Sera had extended to me, pulling her closer with a proprietary air.
"Sera, why didn't you call me when you came to see the Master?" he chastised, but his tone was light. "Mom and Dad were frantic when they heard you came out to this remote place alone."
He glanced at me, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. "Don't mind us, Rhys. The boy missed his mother. And with her being pregnant again, we all have to be extra careful."
My eyes drifted, involuntarily, to her flat stomach. The irony was a punch to the gut. Eight years unmarried, waiting for me? She had two children with Brandon, one already nearly ten.
I thought back. Before my arrest, shed been injured in the line of duty, claiming she needed a year at a specialized recovery clinic. That must be when it happened. They were already intertwined, already a family. And I, the fool, had been oblivious, throwing myself into solving just one more case, chasing one more bonus, to make sure she had the best care possible.
Before I could even process the assault of emotion, my parents' accusations began, a torrent of righteous anger.
"Rhys Kincaid, you have the nerve to still be breathing!" My father, Robert, spat the words. "You shamed us beyond repair!"
My mother, Susan, cried out, "Your father had a stroke three years ago! If Brandon hadn't been checking on us, if he hadn't rushed your father to the hospitalyour father would be dead and buried!"
I looked at their graying hair and the deep lines of their aged faces, and despite everything, a wave of hollow regret washed over me for the years of care I couldn't give them.
But watching them cling to Sera and Brandon, the sting of betrayal intensified. If they knew the truththat the people they were thanking, the people they cherished, were the ones who had framed me for a crime that cost innocent liveswhat would that do to them?
My father looked at me with open disgust. "Sera, that boy is a disgrace. He isn't worth your worry." He shook his head. "If I had committed such a horrific wrong, I would have had the decency to disappear forever! You shouldnt have come for him!"
My mother chimed in, pure contempt in her voice. "That's right. We disowned him eight years ago. Don't worry about hurting our feelings. What good is a son like that? We only recognize you and Brandon as our family now."
Frankie was watching the exchange, his eyes wide and beginning to look wary.
There was nothing left to say. My subtly trembling hands were the only thing that betrayed the cold fury churning inside me.
Sera noticed the tremor. With a look of practiced sympathy, she explained, "They've had to endure public scorn for years, Rhys. Try not to blame them." She gently soothed my parents, then turned back to me before leaving. "What happened back then I still owe you for it," she murmured. "My number hasn't changed. Call me if you ever need anything."
I simply nodded, refusing to speak.
Seeing my non-committal nod, Sera finally seemed satisfied and departed. Call her? I thought. I wanted to run from them, not beg for the scraps of charity she might condescend to throw my way.
After my parents and the entourage were gone, Frankie walked over and clapped my shoulder, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything, but I knew. Something had shifted.
The next day, I was assigned to the oldest, most dilapidated boat, given the back-breaking tasks. Frankie shuffled his feet, avoiding my eyes.
"Rhys, its not that I dont want to look out for you," he mumbled.
"Look, after the spectacle yesterday and, well, everyone knows you did time." He looked miserable. "No one wants to share a boat with you. You'll have to work alone."
I nodded silently, shouldered the heavy fishing net, and walked toward the small boat that looked painfully frail against the churning waves. A wave of crushing sadness washed over me. The fragile illusion of peaceSera had personally destroyed it.
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