My husband had me sentenced to ten years for a two-million-dollar fraud I never committed, and in the courthouse corridor he pulled my grandmother’s ring off my finger and told me to enjoy it. I didn’t argue. I handed a folded piece of paper to the guard.

It was not freedom. Nobody said the word innocent to me that day or for eight months afterward.

But I did not go inside that building that night.

And standing behind all of them, at the back, not coming forward, was an old man with completely white hair in a dark suit with a cane.

He did not hug me. He did not smile.

When we were finally alone in the back of his car he said:

“Your husband thinks he stole two million dollars from a company.”

“He did.”

Anders Kaszuba shook his head slowly.