I thought my life was perfect—married to Tom for eight years, raising our sweet daughter Sarah. When Tom surprised us with a Maldives getaway for our anniversary, I was overjoyed. “I want us to make unforgettable memories, to celebrate us,” he had said, handing me glossy brochures of paradise.

The first few days were magical. Private dinners, starlit walks, and heartfelt promises like, “To my beautiful Alice, may our love bloom eternal.” But soon, reality crept in. Tom’s phone rang constantly. He blamed work, saying, “They’ve run into problems, and they need my help urgently.”

Then came the night everything changed.

After dinner, Tom passed out drunk. When his phone rang again, I answered, expecting work talk. Instead, a woman’s voice snapped, “He said his wife died in a car accident two years ago.” My heart froze. My husband had told another woman I was dead.

When I confronted him, he stammered, “It was a mistake, a terrible joke that went too far.” But there was no justifying this level of betrayal.

Back home, I pretended to forgive him. I invited him to a fancy dinner to “start over.” What he didn’t know was I had also invited Amanda—the woman from the call. When she arrived, I introduced myself: “I’m Alice, the wife who’s supposedly been dead for two years.”

Amanda turned on Tom: “You’re a lying, manipulative… How could you?” She stormed out, leaving Tom in ruins.

“I’m begging you, for Sarah’s sake, can we find a way to get past this?” he pleaded.

But it was too late. “You don’t deserve to be in her life or mine.”

As I walked away, I felt the first breeze of freedom—and the beginning of a new life for Sarah and me.