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I Was Accused of His Murder. But When I'm Alone, I Swear I Can Still Hear Him... Inside This House. The first thing they asked me wasn't, "Are you okay?" They asked: "Ma’am, where did you hide the body?" I was accused of murdering my husband the moment I called to report him missing. All the evidence was stacked perfectly against me: faked emails, a suspicious search history on how to dispose of a body, and a large sum of money that suddenly appeared in my account. His family called me a murderer. The police believed I was a black widow. Trapped in my own home with an ankle monitor, I was haunted by one question: How did he just vanish completely? The "fortress of silence" he had meticulously built suddenly felt suffocating. I knew I was innocent, and I had to find the truth myself. Until I discovered a secret right inside my own home—a truth even more terrifying than the murder accusation. The man who framed me... never actually left. He was still there, inside the house, watching me from within the walls.