A month after my husband Alden, 42, died unexpectedly, his phone notified me of a hotel charge made minutes earlier. Confused, I drove to the hotel. His phone rang, showing “Marlon – Work,” his boss. Shaken, I didn’t answer, wondering how a dead man’s card was active. At the hotel, I learned Alden was in Room 403. No one answered my knocks. A teenage cleaner emerged, saying she saw Alden alive recently with a blonde woman. Stunned, I found his phone’s browser history searched, “What happens if you fake your death?” A life insurance payout had gone to a joint account I didn’t open. The girl said Alden checked in as Carter Verner—his middle

name. I realized Alden faked his death for the insurance money, planning to disappear. I reported identity fraud to the hotel manager, and police arrested Alden days later with a former coworker across state lines. He faced charges for fraud and faking his death. In court, his excuses meant nothing. I sold our house, moved near my sister, and started over with my son, feeling freer than ever. The truth, though painful, set me free.