Memories publicly 1

After I die, read my memories publicly 

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Chapter 1 

As New York’s most notorious madwoman, I died. 

The entire city of New York celebrated my death with jubilation, even setting off fireworks for half a month straight. 

All of this was because I had squandered my husband Benjamin Kingsley’s Christmas savings, pushed him from a high–rise building, leaving him permanently disabled and requiring long–term treatment in Switzerland. 

My stepsister Olivia Parker miscarried three times because of me. I placed her only child under car wheels and crushed it repeatedly, then mailed the remains to her house, frightening her into a heart condition. 

American media condemned my extreme behavior, and millions of citizens took to the streets, begging the government to leave my corpse exposed in the wilderness. 

[This she–devil doesn’t deserve a proper burial. She should be devoured by wild wolves!] 

The incident shocked the entire nation, prompting the federal government to activate a classified policy—publicly reading my memories. 

Benjamin even returned to America specifically for this event. Having lost one leg, he sat in the victims‘ section alongside 

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Olivia. 

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Reporters surrounded him, asking: “Mr. Kingsley, surely you no longer have feelings for her. Do you agree to the public reading of her memories?” 

To everyone’s surprise, Benjamin lowered his gaze and paused for a long moment before saying: “She committed so many 

evil acts, punishment is deserved. I agree to read Charlotte’s memories.” 

But when everyone saw my memories from life, they were all shocked. 

***** 

The courtroom lights were blindingly harsh. 

My corpse lay in the center, with a massive projection overhead preparing to broadcast my life memories to the entire nation. 

“Charlotte Adams, New York’s most vicious woman. Today, we will completely expose this madwoman’s true motives.” 

The director’s cold voice echoed through the courtroom, followed by murmurs from the gallery. 

My gaze slowly swept across the crowd, finally settling on the “victims“” section. 

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Benjamin sat there in a suit, his disability not diminishing hist composed demeanor. 

When the camera focused on him, he lowered his eyes slightly and said painfully: “I agree to expose Charlotte’s crimes. This isn’t just for me, but for everyone she’s hurt.” 

Meanwhile, Olivia gently touched her chest, looking as if she might break into tears. 

Benjamin tenderly took her hand. Under the lights, they looked perfectly matched. 

Live stream comments read: [Mr. Kingsley and Ms. Olivia Parker make such a great couple. I think they should get married.] 

[Don’t you know? Charlotte stole Ms. Olivia Parker’s engagement and shamelessly married Benjamin herself.] 

[That lunatic ruined both their lives. Charlotte, go to hell!] 

My soul floated before the two of them, watching their intimate display with nothing but disgust. 

The screen began to flicker. 

“Now beginning official memory reading.” 

In the footage, twenty–year–old me sat in Carnegie Hall, playing 

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Chopin’s “Nocturne.” 

Gentle light enveloped me. I wore a serene smile, completely different from the “madwoman” they described. 

Whispers occasionally arose from the surroundings. 

“This has to be fake, right? How could Charlotte be so gentle? Didn’t rumors say she’d been violent since childhood?” 

“You don’t understand. This is just an act. Charlotte is very good at pretending.” 

I watched my former gentle self on screen, feeling heartbroken. 

Back then, I was New York’s brightest jewel and a renowned pianist. 

But after marrying Benjamin, I stopped performing, handing my brilliant future over to others. 

After the performance ended, a handsome young man walked onto the stage carrying flowers. 

“Ms. Parker, I’m Benjamin Kingsley, your devoted fan.” 

Benjamin’s eyes then were full of sincere adoration, completely different from the cold man in today’s courtroom. 

He followed my piano tour for half a year, from France to Italy. 

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Naturally, I fell in love with him. 

Benjamin in his wheelchair blinked and clenched his fists. 

Questioning voices arose from the audience. 

“Didn’t rumors say Charlotte stole Ms. Olivia Parker’s engagement? This looks like Benjamin actively pursued Charlotte?” 

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Seeing this, Olivia stood up and said urgently: “Judge Williams, please skip to the key memories. Charlotte caused me to miscarry three times. Those memories can’t be faked.” 

I quietly watched her impatient manner, feeling cold inside. 

This stepsister who lived with me for eighteen years was now the loudest voice calling for my judgment. 

Judge Nicole Williams nodded. The footage suddenly switched to several years later. 

Olivia lay weakly in bed, carefully accepting the medicine I handed her. 

“Olivia, you’ve been frail lately. Drink this medicine.” 

She nodded and took just one sip before vomiting blood violently. 

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Finally, the footage froze on Olivia’s incredulous face. She screamed at me: “Charlotte, why did you hurt me? Just because you can’t have children, you had to kill mine?” 

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