Fighting Back Against Husband's Murder Plot

My husband wanted to kill me to get insurance.

On my fortieth birthday, my frugal husband purchased a life insurance policy for me, covering up to 10 million dollars.

He explained, "Honey, since you're pregnant, we need to ensure the unborn child is protected. If anything happens to you, this insurance will safeguard his future."

However, this unexpected "gift" left me feeling uneasy, and we ended up in a heated argument over it. I posted the incident on twitter.

One comment caught my attention.

It was a screenshot of a post, and the content gave me chills.

[My wife is 40, and I'm buying her a high-cost insurance policy, betting on an accident during a risky birth.]

[It's my compensation for my youth! And security for boys!]

*****

I found the link to the original post shared by that user and saw it was updated just one minute ago.

[Friends, not only did that old woman refuse to sign, but she also drove me to the guest room to sleep. Who can understand my pain?]

This made my pupils shrink slightly as I glanced at the empty bed beside me.

Not long ago, I had impulsively sent Alex to the guest room after an argument.

Could it be such a coincidence?

I thought it over and decided to reply in a male tone.

[Haha, there's someone else who thinks like me. But I've got it covered. I'll teach you a trick to let her down. Prepare two insurance policies, one for you and one for her, and sign them together. That way, her risk is higher than yours, and in the end, you will benefit!]

Perhaps the poster was offline and didn't respond.

Instead, I heard a gentle knock at the bedroom door.

My husband, Alex's voice came from outside, "Ariana, I was wrong. Don't be angry, okay? I feel lonely without you. Come and hug me."

Alex and I had a big age gap. I was eight years older.

Normally, I would soften at his pout.

Unless it were a matter of principle, I would forgive him.

But this time, I found his behavior repulsive.

So, I pretended to be asleep and didn't respond.

A few minutes later, the door opened slowly.

Alex approached my bedside, sighed, tucked me in gently, and kissed my cheek.

He whispered, "Silly girl, it's okay to be annoyed with me. Why aren't you covered up? What if you catch a cold?"

As the door closed, I opened my eyes, tears welling up.

Would someone intending to harm me care if I caught a cold?

Perhaps I had misunderstood Alex.