“Stage four cancer… just weeks to live…” These words echoed in my mind as everything around me shattered. My husband was dying. The diagnosis felt cold, and I was devastated.

When we saw Dr. Matthews about Eric’s condition, his expression said it all. I knew something was terribly wrong. That’s when he told us that Eric had stage four cancer and had only weeks to live.

The news hit us hard.
Eric had to stay in the hospital, and in the following days, I spent almost all my time there, trying to stay strong for him and assuring him everything would be fine.

I cried uncontrollably at the thought of losing Eric, but the doctor told me I should prepare for the worst.

One day, pacing the hospital corridors, I needed a moment to breathe, so I went outside and found a bench to sit on. That’s when she appeared: a nurse in her late 40s, wearing navy scrubs and shoes that showed signs of long hours on her feet. She sat beside me.

“Set up a camera in his ward,” she whispered. “He’s not dying.”

“What!?” I gasped. “What are you talking about?”

“Just do what I say. You deserve to know the truth,” she urged.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

Her words planted a seed of doubt in my mind. I was torn between trusting my husband or invading his privacy. Eventually, I convinced myself that if there was any truth to what she said, I had to know.

That evening, as I typed my credit card number and hit “order,” my hands trembled. Once I made the purchase for the small camera, I whispered, “I’m sorry,” unsure if I was apologizing to Eric or to myself.

Two days later, when Eric was scheduled for a CT scan, I went to his room and set up the camera.

I had no idea what to expect, but the next morning, I played the footage.

What I saw shattered me. A woman in a sleek leather coat entered Eric’s room, and he jumped out of bed. The pain he’d claimed was unbearable seemed to disappear when he saw her.

They embraced and kissed, their body language intimate and familiar. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I saw her give him some papers, which he tucked under his mattress.

All this time, I thought my husband was dying, but he was with someone else, planning something behind my back. I knew I needed solid proof of what they were up to, so the next night, I stayed at the hospital without telling him.

Around 9 pm, the woman appeared again. She walked down the hall with the confidence of someone who owned the place. When she entered Eric’s room, I stood by the door and listened. What I overheard was the ultimate betrayal. It was something I never imagined from the man I had been married to for 15 years.

It turned out their plan was to fake his death. Once he was declared dead, the insurance money would be moved offshore.