My husband, Eric, was given weeks to live due to cancer. I was sitting outside the hospital, devastated, when a stranger approached me.
She sat down and said, “Set up a hidden camera in his room. HE’S NOT DYING.”
Confused, I asked, “What are you talking about? The doctors said he’s dying.”
She just replied, “Trust me. Set up the camera. You deserve to know the truth.” Then she left.
Her words haunted me. Desperate, I secretly set up the camera while Eric was undergoing a scan.
That evening, I watched the footage. At first, it was normal — Eric lying in bed. Then, at 9 p.m., a woman wearing a sleek leather coat with her hair perfectly styled walked in. She looked stunning. My “dying” bedridden husband effortlessly JUMPED OUT of his bed.
And then the worst part began.
He laughed. A full-bodied, smug laugh as he grabbed the woman and kissed her. Not just a peck — like he’d been starving for her all day. She handed him what looked like a folder, and he said something that turned my stomach:
“Perfect. Once the insurance clears, we vanish.”
I paused the video.
Insurance?
My whole body went cold. I’d been driving myself sick worrying, crying in waiting rooms, canceling work… and this man, the man I married, was faking terminal cancer?