“Stage four cancer… just weeks to live.” My world shattered—my husband, Eric, was dying. The doctor’s words felt cold, and I was devastated. I spent my days at the hospital, trying to stay strong.
One night, a nurse whispered, “Set up a camera in his ward. He’s not dying.” Suspicious, I did. What I saw the next day crushed me—Eric, pain-free, kissing another woman. They exchanged papers, hiding something.
Determined, I stayed late and overheard their plan: fake his death, claim insurance money, and vanish. The doctor was in on it. I recorded everything.
The next day, I gathered family and played the recording. Betrayed, his mother wept. The police arrested Eric, his mistress, and the doctor.
I filed for divorce, grateful for my freedom.
