My Husband Died 5 Years Ago. Every Month I Send €200 to My In-Laws. One Day, the Neighbor Told Me… My husband died 5 years ago.

Every month I sent €200 to my in-laws to pay off a debt.

One day, my downstairs neighbor told me, “Stop sending them money and check the security camera.”

The next day I reviewed the recording.

Part 1: Checks in the Fog
Five years. 1,825 days. 60 bills sent regularly on the 15th of each month.

Since David’s death in the tragic I-90 highway crash, my world has been nothing but numbers and silence. David is gone, leaving a huge void and a massive debt he incurred from his parents to save his failing startup.

His family—Mr. and Mrs. Harrison—are devout and strict. They don’t blame me for their son’s death, but they remind me of my “obligation.” 200 euros (about $200 USD) a month is the amount I’ve committed to repaying the 50,000 euro debt David signed with his father. For a freelance nurse like me, it’s a considerable sum, but it’s the only thread still connecting me to my late husband.

I lived in an old suburban apartment where every corner smelled of memories. Each month, I sent money to a post office box as requested by Mrs. Harrison. “We don’t want to see your face; it only prolongs the pain,” she said over the phone in a voice as cold as ice.

Part 2: A Warning from the Shadows
Everything changed one damp Tuesday afternoon.

I was struggling with my grocery bags in front of my door when Mr. Sanders—my downstairs neighbor, an eccentric but sharp former engineer—stopped me. He looked at me anxiously, his hands trembling as he handed me a small piece of paper.

“Sarah,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from cigarette smoke. “Don’t send them any more money. Not this month, not ever again.”

I frowned, trying to slip past him. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Mr. Sanders. It’s David’s debt. I have to pay it.”

Mr. Sanders grabbed my wrist, his grip unexpectedly strong. “You’re a poor, blinded child. Review the security camera footage I helped you install in the hallway and parking lot last month. Review the recording from the night of the 14th, at 2 a.m. Don’t ask me why, see for yourself.”

He left, leaving me standing bewildered in the dark hallway, a chill running down my spine.

Part 3: The Climax – What the Cameras Recorded
That night, I sat in front of my laptop screen, my heart pounding like a drum. I rewound the footage to the 14th of this month—the night before I sent out my latest check.

2:10 a.m. The hallway was silent. The fluorescent lights flickered on and off.

A figure emerged from the stairwell. The man, wearing a dark gray hooded jacket, walked with a slight limp—a gait so familiar I almost dropped my teacup. He stopped in front of my apartment door. He wasn’t going to break in. He just stood there. For a long time.

Then he took off his hood to wipe away the sweat.

In the dim light, his face became clearly visible.

It was David.

I screamed, my hands gripping the edge of the table. David? David had died five years ago. I had identified his body (though it wasn’t intact). I had buried him. I had cried my eyes out at his grassy grave.

But in the video, the man took out a master key and gently opened the mailbox in front of my door. He took out an envelope—the very envelope I had prepared to send out the next morning. He opened it, took out the check, smiled eerily, and placed another piece of paper inside before disappearing into the darkness.

Part 4: The Twist – The Survivors’ Plan
I didn’t call the police immediately. I drove like a madman to the Harrisons’ house, two hours away. I didn’t knock; I used the old key I’d kept for the past five years to break in.

The living room was dark, but laughter and conversation echoed from the back room.

“Another 200. That girl is a goldmine,” Mrs. Harrison’s voice rang out, devoid of any trace of sadness.

“Don’t be too greedy, Mother,” a deep, warm male voice said—a voice that had haunted my dreams. “We only need enough to sustain ourselves in Costa Rica after this operation is over.”

I kicked open the door.

David sat there, healthy, with fake passports and stacks of cash on the table. Beside him were his parents—the very people who had concocted this perfect charade with him.

“So, that accident was just an anonymous corpse you bought from the morgue,” I said, my voice trembling with utter rage.

David stood up, without a trace of remorse. “You have to disappear, Sarah. The debt is real, but not to your parents. You owe the gangsters. If you didn’t die, they would have killed both you and me. You protected me, didn’t you?”

“By making me work myself to death for five years to support your escape?” I screamed. “By making me mourn a ghost?”

“You’re doing just fine, aren’t you?” David moved closer, his eyes now cold and distant. “Sign this last check, and we’ll disappear forever. You’ll be free.”

Part 5: The Extreme Climax – The Punishment
I stepped back, my hand in my jacket pocket.

“I’ve seen the camera footage, David. And I’ve also sent that video to someone.”

“To whom? The police?”

“It would take them hours to get here,” David sneered.

“No,” I smiled, a bitter smile. “I sent it to your old creditors—the guys you call ‘gangsters’.” I texted them, ‘David Harrison is still alive and has a large sum of cash at this address.’

The expressions on their faces changed instantly. The roar of car engines outside, headlights sweeping across the windows like the eyes of death.

“Sarah, what have you done?” Mr. Harrison yelled.

“I’m just paying off my debt,” I said calmly. “But not with money, with the truth.”

I walked out the back door just as large figures kicked open the front door. Gunshots rang out, screams echoed behind me. I didn’t look back.

The next morning, news broke of a bloody shootout at the Harrison mansion. No one survived. Police found fake passports and evidence of the insurance fraud from years ago.

I sat on a park bench, looking at the last 200 euro check in my hand. I tore it to shreds, letting the scraps of paper fly in the wind. The debt from the past five years was finally paid off. The math is done.

I am no longer the wife of a ghost. I am a living woman, for the first time in half a decade.