The Accusation

Thirty minutes after Michael arrived at the Cafe, she walked in and had her seat across his seat.

"What is this about, Michael?" she asked, folding her arms.

Michael wasn't smiling; his face was so melancholy, and his voice low but firm. "This." He pulled the letter from his pocket and slid it across the table.

Sarah just glanced at it but didn't pick it up. "What is that?" She said after a few seconds.

"Read it," he said firmly.

She sighed, picked it up, and read. Her brow furrowed after she finished reading.

"I don't know what this is," she said candidly.

Michael was surprised. "You don't know? It was in your things, Sarah. Hidden inside a book."

"OK, I should agree with you. I know about the letter when I did not. I didn't write it, and I have no idea who did."

"Don't lie to me Madam," Michael hissed, his voice rising. "Someone is talking about Clara and Clement like they're not my kids. And they're writing to you. Do you expect me to believe all you are saying about this?"

Her eyes flashed with anger. "Lower your voice, Michael. People are staring."

"I don't care if the whole world is staring!" he shot back. "You owe me an explanation."

Sarah's lips were vibrating. She leaned back into her chair, her arms still crossed. "Michael, I don't owe you anything. I told you, I didn't write the letter nor did I know the writer"

Michael was still looking at her in surprise. "Ah! Sarah." He exclaimed. And for you to sit here and accuse me—what exactly are you accusing me of?"

"Sarah, tell me the truth" Michael snapped. "Are you playing save here, is there someone else? Is there any truth to what is inside the letter?"

Sarah's eyes turned red, and she became angry. "How dare you accuse me of unfaithfulness? After all, I have done for you and the family... still, you have the guts to accuse me of cheating? Have kids with someone else? Oh Michael, stop it now!"

"Why are you venting? You are already turning everything on me. This is not about me but the letter," Michael fired back at her.

"What it means," she said slowly, "is like someone is out there trying to stir up trouble. And you're falling for it. Right?"

"Why would someone write this if there wasn't some truth to it?" Michael asked, his voice thick with frustration.

"Why do people do half the things they do?" she countered. "Jealousy. Maybe someone hates seeing us happy living together—" She stopped herself and corrected, "—hates seeing you doing well with the kids. I don't know. But what I do know is that this is not my problem."

"It is your problem," Michael said, his voice shaking. "Because it's your name on that letter. Someone thinks you know something, Sarah."

She exhaled sharply, her composure finally slipping.

"I still don't know how best to explain this to you, Michael; I don't know who wrote it, why he wrote it, and I don't know why you believe a stranger over me."

Michael rested his back, and he changed his sitting posture; he was exhausted, emotionally and physically. "You're not giving me any clue to this. How am I supposed to believe you when you're just brushing this off like it's nothing?"

"Because it is nothing," Sarah said firmly. "It's a piece of paper with some fake accusations and no proof. If you can't trust me over that, then maybe the problem isn't the letter. Maybe it's you."

Sarah's word was heavy in his heart; it punched him hard. "You think this is about me?" he asked quietly.

"Your problem is that you've always had a hard time trusting people," she said, her voice softening slightly. "Even me. And maybe that's why this letter is getting under your skin. But Michael, you can't keep questioning my integrity every time something doesn't make sense to you."

He looked away, but his mind was filled with anger, doubt, and guilt. All were looking for expressions at the same time.

"I expected you to take responsibility for this." He asked after a long silence.

Sarah shook her head. "How on earth would you expect me to take responsibility for what I didn't know anything about? I have told you all I know, it's left to you to accept or discard it. That is not my problem!"

Michael turned his gaze to her, "And what about the kids? What happens if this person asking for them plans evil for them? Or he comes back asking for them?"

Her expression was calm, and for the first time, she felt concerned. "No one is taking our kids, Michael. I may not be there with you, but I am still there mother. And if someone tries to hurt my kids, I will fight the same way you would have fought."

Her words echoed in his mind; he nodded slowly, indicating resigning to the argument but not in agreement.

"Fine," he said finally. "But if I find out you're lying to me—"

"I'm not," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "And I won't let you make me the villain in this."

There was a silence in the atmosphere, the tension was almost touchable between them. Finally, Sarah smoothed her skirt. "I think you are done accusing me of what I didn't do. If there is nothing reasonable to talk about, then I need to go".

Michael didn't stop her as she walked away, the letter still lying on the table between them.

---

Back at home, Emilia was waiting in the living room when Michael returned.

"How did it go?" she asked cautiously.

He dropped his keys on the dining table and sank onto the couch, "She denied everything. Said she didn't know anything about the letter."

"Do you believe her?"

Michael hesitated before answering. "I don't know. She seemed genuine, but… something about the whole thing just doesn't sit right with me."

Emilia sat down beside him, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe she doesn't know. Or maybe she's scared to tell the truth."

"Either way, it doesn't help me figure out who wrote it or what they want," he said bitterly.

"You'll figure it out," Emilia said softly. "And whatever happens, you're not alone in this."

Michael nodded, though the weight of uncertainty still pressed heavily on his shoulders.