Last night, I helped an elderly woman carry her bags home. This morning, police knocked on my door — accusing me of murder.
She’d seemed so gentle, struggling to breathe, so I offered to help. We talked on the way, and she thanked me when we reached her house. I thought nothing more of it.
But the next day, flashing lights and officers surrounded my home. They said I was the last person seen with her alive. After hours of interrogation, the truth finally came out — her son had killed her later that night.
They apologized and let me go. Still, I can’t forget how a simple good deed nearly cost me everything.
