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Rebecca Haro’s Murder Mystery Theater

Rebecca Haro didn’t just “make a report.” Allegedly she put on a full Broadway production of a fake kidnapping. Her leading man? Jake Haro, her husband, a certified monster with a résumé of child cruelty so vile it left his own daughter practically a vegetable for life. For that atrocity, our justice system, ever generous to sadists, gift-wrapped him six months in jail and a probation deal softer than a baby’s blanket. He even violated that probation by grabbing a gun, but apparently “no kids allowed” wasn’t part of his probation terms. Justice didn’t just take a vacation here, it retired, bought a condo in Florida, and stopped answering calls.

So now we’ve got Jake, the human embodiment of a felony, standing as the obvious prime suspect in the disappearance of his infant son. Presumption? He killed the baby. Motivation? Who cares. This guy needs no reason to be violent. And Rebecca? She’s the dutiful spouse running interference with a bogus 911 call while sporting a black eye that screams “complimentary beating from Jake’s fists.”

Jake, naturally, has a defense lawyer running damage control for his second crime against a child. Meanwhile Rebecca gets a court-appointed lawyer, probably the only person in this whole circus who’ll tell her the obvious: either cough up the truth about where her baby’s body is and how exactly he was snuffed out, or spend the rest of her life rotting in a cell next to women who hate baby killers more than Jake hates obeying probation.

Rebecca’s dilemma is not complicated. She can either:

  1. Rat out her worthless mutant of a husband and maybe live long enough to see daylight again, or
  2. Keep covering for him and spend her golden years explaining to hardened convicts why she lied about her own murdered child. 

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