Eleanor gestured inside with a slight nod. "You should go and change your clothes."

Wiping away my tears, I went to my room and changed into a black dress with a black jacket over it. There are plenty of black clothes in my wardrobe, and black seemed to match the tone of my life over the past few years.

When I came out, Eleanor was leading several officers as they examined and photographed my home. Meanwhile, I glanced around blankly, looking dazed and grief-stricken.

She pointed to the long row of medicine bottles on top of the dresser. "Whose medication is this?"

"The ones on the left are mine. The ones on the right belong to my husband."

She leaned in to take a closer look. "Carbamazepine… Do you have bipolar disorder?"

"Something like that," I replied weakly.

"How long has it been?"

"Three years. My mother-in-law's sister is a doctor. Every two or three months, my husband would take me to see her. The medical records are in the drawer below."

She pulled out a thick stack of my medical records from the drawer and handed them to her assistant. Meanwhile, my husband's side held various types of vitamins.

There was also a small white plastic bottle in the middle with its label torn off. Eleanor, now wearing gloves, unscrewed the cap and found it half-filled with small white pills.

"Whose is this?"

I glanced at the bottle in her hand.

"Mine," I said, pausing before explaining, "Last week, I spilled some makeup remover on it, which ruined the label, so I tore it off."

My makeup was stored on the same dresser, close to the row of medicine bottles. The bottle of makeup remover was nearly full and barely used.

She placed the entire row of bottles into a clear evidence bag, and the unlabeled white plastic bottle was sealed separately in its own bag.

Eleanor scanned the room one more time before turning back to me. "Do you sleep in the guest bedroom?"

I nervously tugged at my hair and answered quietly, "Yes, my husband said I snore in my sleep. He usually has to wake up early for work, which can be disruptive.

After finishing the photographs, we left the house together. I was then brought to an interrogation room, where cameras were everywhere.

Sitting at the table, I let my thoughts wander back to the early days of my relationship with Chester. Overcome with sadness, I rested my head on the table and quietly sobbed.

A long time passed before Eleanor returned, and her expression was unusually stern.

"Did your husband have trouble sleeping or a habit of taking sleeping pills?"

I shook my head while fidgeting nervously with my fingers, "No, he didn't."

She forcefully pulled out a chair, slammed the small white bottle onto the table, and then produced a pair of handcuffs.

With a sharp click, she fastened them around my wrists.

"From now on, you are the prime suspect in Chester Paget's murder!" Eleanor said as she leaned on the table with both arms, her sharp gaze drilling into me.

"The lab results are out. We found sleeping pills in his bloodstream! Aren't these Diazepams yours? Tell me, why did you murder your husband?"

I froze for a moment before abruptly standing, my emotions spiraling out of control as I shouted, "That's impossible! This bottle contains Carbamazepine!

"I have bipolar disorder—why would there be Diazepam in my house?"

Anyone with basic knowledge would know that Diazepam was used to treat depression and insomnia, but it was contraindicated for bipolar patients. Using it could worsen symptoms and lead to severe adverse effects!

I reached out to grab the bottle, but Eleanor was faster. She snatched it back before I could touch it. My hand grasped at the air, and I slammed the table in frustration.

"You can't just frame me like this! You can check everything—my phone, my computer—they're all at home. I've never purchased Diazepam! Every medication I take is a legitimate prescription from my doctor for treating bipolar disorder!"

Eleanor paused, clearly taken aback. Acknowledging my history of mental illness, she softened her tone and poured me a glass of warm water.

"Calm down, and don't worry. Everything you've said will be investigated thoroughly. For now, I'm afraid you'll have to stay here and rest."

I tilted my head back, drinking most of the water in one gulp. Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself, lowering my gaze without saying a word.

Eleanor then left the room. Through the glass, I saw her speaking in low tones with someone outside before walking away.

It was already the afternoon of the next day when she returned.

Eleanor sat across from me, and her expression was unreadable. Even so, there was a hint of sympathy in her eyes as she looked at me.

Eleanor placed some documents on the table and poured me a glass of warm water. She then began saying, "Ivy, I have a few questions to ask you. Don't worry, just answer honestly."

The weather was chilly, so I wrapped my hands around the cup. The warmth gradually revived my icy fingers.

"What was your relationship with your husband like?" she asked.

"He treated me well, but…"

I covered my face with my hands, and my eyes welled up with tears again. As his image came to mind, tears streamed through my fingers, and I sobbed uncontrollably.

"It was all my fault. I could never meet his expectations. He always said no other wife would be as incompetent as me. I feel like such a failure…

"He said a woman should be capable of both hosting in the living room and cooking in the kitchen, but no matter how hard I tried, my cooking never satisfied him. I could barely earn a few thousand a month and was no help to his business…" I stammered.

Those were his exact words.

Chester was an expert at psychological manipulation. To him, I was a worthless woman, incapable of doing anything right and unwanted by anyone but him.

He dismissed every achievement I celebrated and the joy I experienced as insignificant. Meanwhile, he magnified all my flaws endlessly.

After we got married, he repeatedly badmouthed my closest friends and convinced me to cut ties with them. I was completely infatuated with him at the time, obeying his every word.

I then ended up with no friends.

Under his constant manipulation, I fell into deep self-doubt. My temper worsened, and I became a shadow of myself.

Eventually, I met Dr. Evelyn Callaghan, my mother-in-law's younger sister, at their family home. She was a well-known psychologist in the area.

She diagnosed me with bipolar disorder, prescribed medication, and gave me professional advice and guidance.

But despite undergoing repeated treatment, my condition didn't improve—it only got worse.

As tears streamed down my face, I confessed, "I have such a bad temper, and now I need medication… I'm such an unfit wife…"

Over the five years of our marriage, Chester constantly reminded me of my failures and inadequacies. I deliberately kept detailed records of it all.

Eleanor had taken my phone earlier, and I knew she must have read through the messages by now. My sobs grew louder and louder, echoing in the room.