After my wife Elizabeth’s tragic car accident, I was shattered, left to raise our two little girls alone. At her funeral, an old woman approached me, claiming, “Her death was no accident.” Intrigued and desperate for answers, I handed her twenty dollars.

“Elizabeth won’t rest until justice is served,” she whispered, sending chills down my spine. That night, I rifled through Elizabeth’s belongings and discovered car rental receipts—strange, as we had two cars.

The next morning, I called her best friend, Sarah, who revealed Elizabeth had rented a car for a surprise outing. But when I visited the rental company, I learned that Elizabeth’s sister, Karen, returned the car, not mentioning the accident.

I felt unease grow. The police had initially dismissed the crash as an accident, but I insisted on an investigation. Soon, they found evidence of tampered brakes and a shocking life insurance policy Karen had taken out on Elizabeth, forging her signature.

The betrayal cut deep. Karen confessed during interrogation, revealing her plan to kill Elizabeth for financial gain.

As she was sentenced to life in prison, I felt a mixture of grief and closure. Elizabeth’s death had not gone unanswered.

Weeks later, I visited her grave. Standing there, I whispered, “You can rest now.” A butterfly landed softly on her headstone, and I felt a wave of peace wash over me. That fortuneteller’s words had led me to the truth—a painful but necessary revelation.