My Husband Faked His Death for Love, and I Went with It

My husband, Hank, is dead. 

On our wedding anniversary, he ventured out in the pouring rain to buy me a cake, only to be hit by a truck. His body was badly mangled in the crash. 

My sister-in-law, Lyra, called me a killer, claiming that I did not deserve Hank’s inheritance. 

My mother-in-law, Judy, kicked me out of the house. 

Overwhelmed by grief and guilt, I often wondered if he would still be alive had I stopped him that day. Eventually, emotions gripped me, and I was diagnosed with cancer. 

Judy came to visit me on my deathbed. “You’re an idiot to believe everything!” 

She threw a family photo in my face. 

The shock and anger were more than I could handle, and I breathed my last. 

It turned out that Hank was never dead. He had a child with his old flame. 

When I opened my eyes once more, I returned to the day my husband faked his death.

“I’m so sorry, but your husband, Hank Johnson, was in a car crash this afternoon. He didn’t make it.”

The funeral home employee said, his head hung low, “Our condolences.”

News about my husband’s death did not stir any sad feelings in me. Instead, I was eerily calm.

“I want to see his body. I need proof that he’s really gone.”

“I understand that you’re going through a lot of emotions now, Mrs. Johnson, but his body was badly damaged in the crash. It’s best that you don’t see him in such a state.”

Before I could say anything, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law rushed to the scene.

“It’s all her fault, Mom! If she didn’t demand some cake, Hank wouldn’t have gone out in the rain and got hit by a truck!”

“Why, you! Give me back my son, Rochelle!”

Judy, my mother-in-law, came up to hit me, but I grabbed her arm and flung her to the side.

She staggered back and tore into me. “You’re vile! You got my son killed and attacked me! My poor son!”

“You might want to be mindful of your words, Judy. Surely, you don’t want to wish bad things on Hank, right?”

I let out a sarcastic smile.

Judy stammered, her expression stiff, while sounding me out, “M-My son is lying in the morgue, and you’re denying getting him killed? Have you no conscience?”

Brushing Judy off, I turned to the funeral home staff and said, “If the body was mangled from the crash, how did you verify my husband?”

The staff member glanced at Judy, his patience running thin. “I’m not an investigator. Take your questions to the police.”

I put my head down and grinned. The truth was plain to see.

Without a doubt, Judy had paid the guy off.

Lyra, my sister-in-law, came in my way to stop me from calling the cops.

“Hank lost his life because of you. You didn’t even shed a tear. Where are you going now?”

“Since he’s dead, I should put his affairs in order.”

In my previous life, the news about Hank’s death devastated me. Judy and Lyra made all the funeral arrangements while I dealt with grief.

I signed all the necessary paperwork without paying attention to any details.

Looking back now, there were loopholes everywhere.

I reached my hand out. “There must be a death certificate issued. Without one, Hank must still be alive.”

Lyra gave Judy a look, and the latter pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket.

“Now, do you believe it?”

I kept my head down, hiding the resentment in my eyes.

In my past life, I blamed myself for Hank’s sudden death.

On our wedding anniversary, I made a passing comment about craving the mousse cake from across the street.

Jumping to action, Hank grabbed his jacket and ran out.

He never came back.

A speeding truck struck him, the force so big that it ripped his body apart.

When I got the call and rushed over, Judy and Lyra were already there.

Judy blamed me for Hank’s death, calling me a jinx and threatening to kick me out of the house. Lyra called me a killer and denied my claim to Hank’s inheritance.

The relentless accusations drove me to despair.

Tormented by grief and guilt, I constantly wondered if he would still be alive had I stopped him that day.

Hence, when Judy and Lyra proposed that I sign away my assets and company to them, I relented.

I moved into a cramped rental place, emotions eating me up inside.

Eventually, my mental anguish took its toll, and I was diagnosed with cancer.

Jude came to visit on my death and showed me a family photo.

Hank and his old flame, Claudia, were in each other’s arms. There was a beaming little girl beside them.

As it turned out, Hank was never dead.

Hank set me up, and his whole family was in on it.

While I was consumed by guilt and despair, the family of three enjoyed a picture-perfect life.

The shock of it all was too much for me, and I breathed my last.

Thankfully, God gave me a second chance at life.

Since Hank wanted to die, it was only right that I made sure he was dead and buried.