My Loving Husband's Killer Was Under My Protection

When the people who wanted revenge finally came after us, my husband, who loved me more than anything, threw himself in front of me to protect me.

He was stabbed eighteen times and died right there.

I didn't call the police. Instead, I cleaned up every trace the killer had left behind.

Later, my mother-in-law grabbed my hands and cried, "You were there when my son died. Please, tell everyone who killed him!"

Our daughter was sobbing, too. "Mom, you and Dad loved each other so much. Tell them who did this so Dad can get justice!"

Even the police officer looked at me sternly. "Covering for a killer and obstructing an investigation are crimes, too. If you know anything, you'd better tell us everything."

I kept my face blank and replied calmly, "I was asleep in my room. I didn't see anything. Is that a crime, too?"

My husband, Matthew Harrison, was famous for how devoted he was to his wife.

In our twenty years of marriage, he remembered every little thing I liked.

Anything I casually mentioned wanting would be waiting on my vanity the next morning.

He knew I was afraid of thunderstorms, so no matter how busy he was, he'd take time off and come home to stay with me whenever it rained.

When I was diagnosed with kidney failure, he donated one of his kidneys to me without a second thought.

He was afraid I'd feel guilty, so he kept it from me for three whole years. I only found out during a routine checkup.

He was the kindest person in the world to me.

When the people who wanted revenge came to our house, Matthew reacted on instinct. He pulled me behind him and used his not particularly large frame to take all eighteen blows meant for me.

Even as the knife wounds pierced his body, all he could do was beg the killer to spare me.

After the killer left, I calmly cleaned the scene.

I wiped away fingerprints, footprints, and every spot in the house the killer might have touched.

I made sure not a trace was left behind.

When I was done, I went back to bed as if nothing had happened.

It wasn't until my mother-in-law Margaret returned from grocery shopping and found Matthew's body that she screamed and called the police.

Matthew had always been kind to everyone, so his brutal death caused a huge sensation.

The entire neighborhood was crowded with onlookers.

The police took the case very seriously. As the only person who had been home, I became the center of everyone's attention.

Margaret grabbed my wrist, crying so hard she could barely speak.

"Joanna, the security cameras caught someone breaking into the house that night."

She paused, then pointed at me.

"They were dressed in black and carrying a knife. You were home, weren't you?"

Her voice grew sharper.

"You must have seen something. So tell us..."

"Who killed Matthew?"

I looked at her without expression.

I said nothing.

Our daughter, Aurora, rushed home from college and broke down as well.

"Mom, you and Dad were so close. Tell them who the killer was. Let the police get justice for Dad!"

When I still didn't respond, Leonard Cooper, the homicide detective in charge of the case, fixed his sharp gaze on me.

His voice was stern. "Mrs. Harrison, concealing the truth and protecting a killer are forms of obstruction of justice. You were the only witness at the scene. If you know anything, you need to tell us everything."

I looked at their expectant faces, then replied in the same flat tone, "I was asleep in my room. I didn't see anything. Is that a crime?"

For the next several days, no matter how many times Detective Cooper questioned or summoned me, I stuck to the same story—

I'd been asleep in my room. I hadn't seen anything.

The police carefully examined the scene and performed an autopsy on Matthew's body.

But they still found no clues that could lead them to the killer.

With no evidence and me insisting that I hadn't seen a thing, the case eventually went cold.

A month passed without a breakthrough, and we held Matthew's funeral.

He had always gone out of his way to help and look after his relatives and friends, so many people came to pay their respects.

When they saw the warm, friendly Matthew reduced to a black-and-white portrait, grief filled every face. People wept openly.

Margaret cried so hard she fainted again and again.

I was the only one standing beside his portrait with a blank expression, showing no emotion at all.