A matter of coincidences

By a strange coincidence she had decided to stay in my apartment the night I left. The fact that she had killed herself with my own gun and that a heap of clothes wet with blood was found in my wardrobe were coincidences as well. That was what I told the trial judge. “Too many coincidences, don’t you think?” was what they answered me back. There was not even a brief hesitation in the jury’s final verdict. There’s no need to say the sentences I was given. It’s better to resign myself to the fact that I will be here long enough as not to recognize my own face in front of the mirror.
She must have known that I was going to arrive late that day. She knew everything: the time I was leaving and the time I was coming. When I arrived I just found her in a pool of blood. Everything appeared to have been done recently. She was holding a gun in her right hand and I had no better idea than pick it up. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to do, it was just a matter of minutes before the police arrived. They put a gun to my head and ordered me to lie on the floor. I could feel my hands in the handcuffs shaking. I was lying in front of her and at that precise moment I noticed her look. Although she was dead, I could have sworn that in that instant she was blaming me for something. Some weeks later, I was told that she had apparently left a diary saying that I was to blame for her death. Then the heap of clothes wet in blood was found in my wardrobe. No neighbour could say that I was not inside the apartment, and that I had not been there for the last ten hours.
For the moment, I have not found a convincing explanation of the way she behaved and most probably O would never find one. However, facts are facts. While she is in heaven or anywhere else, I am here in this dark deep hole for something I have not done. After all, I had only killed her lover that day. I would never have killed her, At least, she was not one on top of the list.