Before we begin, I want you to look at this scene.

A lifeless body, a wedding ring lying in the dirt, and a story so tangled in love, lies, and revenge that authorities struggled to piece together what really happened.

She was a 40-year-old Filipina searching for love.

She believed she found the man who would protect her, cherish her, and build a future with her.

Instead, she stepped into something far darker than she ever imagined.

And tonight, you and I will uncover what pushed this woman to the edge.

But I want you to help me solve something.

Look closely at every detail you see in here.

Ask yourself, who is lying, who is desperate, and who is moments away from losing everything? Because the truth behind this story will hit harder than you expect.

A romance that began with sweet messages ended in a way no one could have predicted.

Stay with me.

Watch closely.

Something here isn’t what it seems.

Before the chaos, before the body on the road, there was a woman who only wanted one thing.

Someone to finally choose her.

This is Marilyn Rays, 40 years old, caregiver to elderly clients, provider for a teenage daughter who depends on her for everything.

A woman who wakes before sunrise and ends her day long after the rest of the street has gone quiet.

She has spent years carrying the weight of everyone around her while no one carried hers.

Her marriage ended in pieces after surviving a man who broke her spirit long before he broke his vows.

She walked away, but the wounds stayed.

And now she lives in a small rented apartment where every bill is a reminder that she must stay strong whether she feels like it or not.

Friends have new husbands, new homes, new lives abroad.

And Marilyn watches from the sidelines, whispering to herself that maybe her turn will never come.

But the part she hides from everyone, even her daughter, is the fear that keeps her awake at night.

The fear of growing old with no hand to hold, no voice to call her love, no partner to say, “I’m here.

” She’s tired.

Tired of being the strong one.

Tired of pretending she doesn’t crave affection, tired of wondering if anyone will ever look at her and truly see her.

And this is where everything begins.

with a lonely woman searching for comfort.

A woman who believes she deserves at least one chance at happiness.

A woman who had no idea her longing would open the door to something far more dangerous.

I want you to pay attention to her face, her eyes, her silence.

These details matter because this story, this tragedy started long before she ever met the man who would change everything.

Then it happened.

The moment that changed Marilyn’s life without warning.

A random friend request.

No message, no introduction, just a name and a photograph that looked almost too perfect.

He called himself Michael Carter.

Mid30s, a United State military contractor stationed in Dubai, a widowed father raising a daughter alone, a man who said he was searching for a Filipino wife to build a peaceful life with.

Within minutes, her inbox lights up and his first message hits her directly where she feels the most fragile.

In a world where she often felt invisible, someone saw her.

Or at least that’s what she believed.

He messaged her every morning as she prepared breakfast.

And every night while she rested her aching feet after work, he told her she was beautiful, strong, worthy of being loved.

Words she never heard from the man she married.

And slowly, she began to let him in.

There were signs, small hints that something wasn’t right.

He was almost too handsome, too polished.

His photos looked like magazine shots.

He spoke of his daughter, yet never showed her.

He moved fast, too fast, calling her my future wife before they’d exchanged more than a few conversations.

He gave her exactly what her heart longed for.

Affection, attention, certainty.

Every word seemed carefully placed to touch the wounds she tried to hide.

And this is why Marilyn never questioned who he really was.

She never saw the small apartment in Malaysia where the messages were actually sent.

She never heard the laughter of the syndicate members waiting for their next target to fall.

To Marilyn, he was the first man who made her feel valued.

To Michael, she was a name on a list.

And now the connection was set.

A bond formed from loneliness and longing.

A bond he would soon weaponize.

Once Marilyn opened the door, Michael didn’t waste a second stepping inside her life.

Every morning, before the sun even touched her window, she woke up to a new message from him.

A video of his face greeting her with a warm smile, a deep voice saying, “Good morning, my love.

I hope you slept well.

” He flooded her days with constant affection, messages that sounded like vows, lines such as, “You’re my future wife, and I can’t wait to start our life together.

” He sent pictures of the place where he supposedly worked.

a military base, he called it.

But what Marilyn didn’t know was that every image came straight from the internet.

Michael built a world for her.

A world where he was her protector, her soon-to-be husband, a man who promised to take her far from her rented apartment and give her daughter a life she thought only belonged to other people.

He talked about marriage as if it were already arranged.

He spoke of migration papers, shared dreams, and the home they would build together in Dubai.

Every word made her believe she had finally escaped the emptiness she carried for years.

And in that hope, she began to depend on him.

She checked her phone more often.

She waited for each message.

She replayed every video.

Michael didn’t just talk to her.

He occupied her thoughts.

Every second, every breath, love, attention, promises, layer after layer.

By the time she realized how deeply she had fallen, she was already standing at the edge of something she wasn’t prepared for.

It happened one ordinary afternoon, the message that would mark the first crack in Michael’s perfect story.

But this time, his tone was different.

Her heart jumped.

He never sounded like this.

Marilyn typed back fast, asking if he was okay.

And then his voice note arrived.

He told her his salary had been placed on hold.

He said it was due to a military clearance that hadn’t been processed yet.

He spoke as if he was embarrassed, almost ashamed, painting himself as a man caught in a difficult situation he didn’t deserve.

Then came the request.

Small enough to sound believable.

Large enough to trouble a woman barely surviving on her wages.

She froze.

20,000 pesos wasn’t pocket money.

It was rent, groceries, her daughter’s school fees.

But she read his message again and again and again.

He promised it was temporary.

He promised he’d pay her back the moment his salary was released.

He promised they were building a future and this was just a small obstacle.

And Marilyn remembered every sweet word he’d ever said, every promise, every dream they planned.

She believed this was what real partners did.

They helped each other, right? She didn’t have the money, but she borrowed it from a neighbor, from a c-orker, from anyone willing to trust her.

And within the hour, she sent him the full amount.

What she didn’t know was that this small request was only the beginning.

Once Marilyn sent that first amount, something shifted.

It was as if Michael sensed exactly how far her heart would stretch for him, and little by little, he began to pull.

The next request came just a week later.

Michael said he needed a medical exam to secure leave approval.

He explained it like it was routine, nothing unusual, but he couldn’t afford it because his salary was still frozen.

Marilyn stared at the message, her stomach tightening.

She had just finished paying back the money she borrowed.

She didn’t even have enough left for her daughter’s allowance, but Michael reassured her.

He told her this was the last thing standing between them and a new life together.

Then came the DHL fees.

Official paperwork, he called it.

He sent her screenshots that looked official, stamped, dated, convincing, but easy to fake if you knew how.

And just when she thought it was finally done, she received another message.

Visa fees, medical requirements, document shipping.

Every step sounded legitimate.

Every explanation sounded logical.

He always softened the blow with affection, telling her he couldn’t wait to hold her hand, to give her a new home, to build the life she deserved.

And Marilyn tried to keep up.

She used her savings until there was nothing left to use.

She borrowed money from friends who trusted her word.

She even went to a pawn shop and handed over the jewelry her mother left her.

She told herself it was temporary.

She believed it was all for a future that was finally within reach.

A future where she wouldn’t have to cry alone at night.

a future where she wouldn’t have to be the strong one anymore.

But with every peso she sent, she stepped deeper into a maze she didn’t even know she was trapped in.

With every peso Marilyn sent, Michael’s words grew sweeter, but his grip on her emotions grew tighter.

What started as affection slowly turned into something heavier, something she couldn’t pull away from.

One evening, she hesitated.

The requests were getting too frequent, too expensive.

She tried to explain that she needed time to gather money.

She told him she was struggling.

He had never spoken like that before.

The tone stung.

It cut through her chest and settled in the deepest part of her fears.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t insult her.

He didn’t call her names.

Instead, he used something far more powerful, her longing for affection.

He twisted it, making her believe that hesitation meant betrayal.

And Marilyn, who had fought for love her whole life, felt her heart tighten.

She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him, losing hope, losing the one man who made her feel important.

Every time she tried to step back, he pulled her closer with guilt.

Every time she questioned something, he made her feel responsible for his pain.

And soon, she stopped questioning at all.

He became the first person she looked for in the morning and the last person she whispered to at night.

Her thoughts revolved around him.

Her emotions responded to him.

Her confidence depended on his approval.

She wasn’t just in love.

She was tied to him completely, and he knew it.

Then came the moment Michael had been building toward.

The final push, the request designed to break whatever Marilyn had left.

Instead of his usual affectionate greeting, she saw a wall of frantic messages.

Michael claimed he was finally on his way to the Philippines.

He said he’d packed his bags, cleared his schedule, and planned to surprise her early, but according to him, something went wrong at immigration.

He told her they demanded money, a clearance fee, a penalty.

He said he couldn’t leave the airport until he paid it.

That one line, “I’m scared,” hit Marilyn harder than anything else.

She felt her chest close.

She imagined him alone in a foreign country, helpless, waiting for her.

She asked why he didn’t call the US embassy, why his military supervisors couldn’t help.

His answers came fast and emotional.

He said no one else could assist.

He insisted she was the only one he trusted.

And that was all it took to push her over the edge.

The panic, the fear, the thought of losing the man she believed she would marry.

She didn’t have 120,000.

But she had something far more painful to give.

She never wanted to touch that money.

It was her daughter’s future.

The one promise she made after leaving her abusive marriage.

I will give you the life I never had.

But in that moment, she chose love over everything else, even over her child’s dreams.

And within an hour, the full 120,000 was gone.

Sent to a man she had never touched.

A man she believed was fighting to come home.

A man she thought was hers.

That payment wasn’t just money.

It was the last piece of her hope.

the last of her strength, the last of her future.

And Michael knew exactly what he had taken.

It happened on a slow Sunday afternoon.

A moment Marilyn never expected.

A message from someone she didn’t know.

No greeting, no small talk, just one sentence that made her blood run cold.

She froze.

Her hands stopped moving.

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

She read the message again, wondering if it was some kind of mistake or a cruel joke.

The link led to a Facebook group with thousands of members, women from different countries, all sharing screenshots of men who promised them marriage, love, a better life.

And then she saw it.

She scrolled again.

Another post, same face, new name, and another and another.

Dozens of them, all claiming to be widowed fathers, all stationed abroad, all searching for their future wife.

In that moment, her entire world cracked open.

The man who whispered love to her every night.

The man she dreamed of waking up beside didn’t exist.

He wasn’t a soldier.

He wasn’t a widowerower.

He wasn’t even named Michael.

Her chest tightened with a pain she’d never felt before.

A raw mix of realization, shame, and something deeper.

Rage.

She felt foolish, used, destroyed.

Every message she reread felt like poison.

Every memory of him turned into a blade.

How could she fall for this? How could she hand over the money? She worked years to save.

Her daughter’s future, her mother’s necklace.

It was more than heartbreak.

It was betrayal.

A betrayal so deep it left her numb.

Sitting alone in the dim light of her cramped apartment, wondering how someone could twist her dreams with such ease.

And as her tears dried, something inside her changed.

The woman who once longed for love now felt something far stronger.

Marilyn couldn’t breathe.

Her hands shook as she grabbed her phone.

She needed answers.

She needed the truth straight from the man who claimed he loved her.

The call rang once, twice, three times.

She whispered to herself, hoping his face would appear, hoping all of this was some cruel misunderstanding.

But the face that appeared wasn’t Michael’s.

And the voice that came out cut through her like a knife.

His tone wasn’t apologetic.

It wasn’t confused.

It wasn’t kind.

It was mocking.

Almost entertained.

He laughed.

A short, sharp laugh as if her pain was some kind of joke.

He leaned closer to the camera as though proud of what he’d done.

Marilyn tried to speak, but her voice broke.

She could barely force out a word.

She whispered his name, hoping he might show even a shred of regret.

But the man on screen simply raised his eyebrows and reached forward.

And just like that, the call ended.

She tried calling again, blocked.

She tried messaging, blocked.

She checked his Facebook profile, deleted.

His WhatsApp photo vanished.

His account disappeared entirely.

In less than a minute, the man she thought she would marry erased himself from her world.

Every trace of him gone, every promise shattered.

Marilyn stood there shaking, staring at her dark phone screen.

It hit her all at once.

She wasn’t speaking to a lover.

She wasn’t speaking to a soldier.

She wasn’t speaking to the man she knew.

She was speaking to the real person behind the mask.

And for the first time, she understood the full weight of what had been taken from her.

After the call ended, Marilyn didn’t move.

It felt as if the air around her froze.

The truth settled on her shoulders like a weight she couldn’t hold.

She had lost everything.

All the money she saved over years.

Every peso she borrowed, the money she set aside for her daughter’s future.

In total, 480,000 gone.

Just like that.

But numbers don’t lie, and reality came at her fast.

When Marilyn finally told her daughter the truth, the silence between them felt colder than any insult.

Her daughter’s voice cracked as she accused her of choosing a stranger over her own family.

And the pain didn’t stop there.

Word spread quickly.

In a small community, secrets don’t stay hidden.

Soon, she couldn’t step outside without hearing the whispers calling her foolish, careless, desperate.

Her landlord came next.

Rent was due, and Marilyn had nothing left to give.

She tried to keep working.

She tried to hide the sadness, but every shift felt heavier.

Her hands shook when feeding her clients.

She forgot schedules.

She arrived late.

She cried in bathroom stalls just to breathe.

And slowly, everything she built over the years began slipping from her grasp.

Her savings vanished.

Her dignity felt stolen.

Her home felt hostile.

Her daughter kept her distance.

She wasn’t just heartbroken.

She was shattered.

and the world around her seemed to crumble piece by piece.

What Marilyn didn’t know was that this painful collapse was only the beginning of a much darker path.

There comes a point when pain stops sounding like crying and starts sounding like silence.

Marilyn reached that point one night alone in her dim apartment.

Her daughter asleep in the next room, the world outside, unaware of the storm building inside her.

She had no tears left, no words left, no hope left.

Everything she worked for, everything she dreamed of, everything she protected for years, gone in the hands of a stranger.

And in that silence, a new thought surfaced, a thought she had never allowed herself to feel.

A thought shaped by loss, humiliation, and the anger that burned beneath her grief.

She whispered at first soft, steady, dangerous.

If you won’t return my life, I’ll take yours.

That single vow spoken into the quiet of her broken home marked the moment Marilyn changed.

The moment she stopped being the victim in her own story and set her sights on the one who destroyed her.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t shake.

She didn’t crumble.

Instead, something inside her hardened.

And from that moment forward, her path took a turn no one saw coming.

After that night, Marilyn didn’t shed another tear.

The grief didn’t disappear.

It simply changed shape.

What once crushed her now fueled her.

She rose from the floor with a new purpose she would find him.

She began searching.

Not randomly, not blindly.

She needed answers.

And this time she refused to be naive.

She joined an online community from around the world who had been deceived, tricked, and robbed by men using fake identities.

A community filled with stories just like hers, some even worse.

For the first time since the truth broke, Marilyn didn’t feel alone.

These women guided her, explained patterns, shared tools, exposed techniques used by these groups.

She took notes, studied every detail, how they create fake profiles, how they steal photos, how they switch numbers, how they disappear.

She learned how they communicate, how they target, how they collect money.

Piece by piece, she built a map.

a map that pointed not to the man she loved, but to the network behind him.

A network operating far from Dubai, far from the deserts he claimed to work in.

She traced his calls, his fake receipts, the time differences in his photos, the voices she heard in the background during rushed conversations, everything lined up.

And then she found it.

A photo uploaded by another woman in the group.

A door, a hallway, a familiar layout.

She matched it with Michael’s old video calls.

The curtain behind him, the wall color, the pattern of the tiles.

It was the same place, the same room, the same operation.

She didn’t just know he was in Malaysia.

She knew exactly where he worked, exactly which apartment, exactly where he sat when he drained her life savings.

And in that moment, Marilyn made her second promise.

She would go there herself, and she would face the man who ruined her.

Once Marilyn confirmed the address, something inside her clicked.

She no longer felt like a helpless victim.

She felt like someone preparing for a mission she couldn’t afford to fail.

She knew she needed money more than she had.

And she knew exactly what story banks would believe.

She told them she needed the loan for medical bills, a believable reason, a reason no one questioned.

Within hours, she walked out with enough money to do what she planned and enough determination to use every cent without hesitation.

She booked a flight to Koala Lumpur.

No return flight, no backup plan.

No one knew where she was going, not even her daughter.

When the plane landed, she stepped into the humid night air with a single goal.

Find the apartment, find him, and end this.

She didn’t go straight to the building.

She needed confirmation.

She needed patterns.

She needed to be sure.

She asked simple questions, casual, harmless.

If the vendor had seen men carrying multiple phones, if they heard loud conversations late at night, if strangers came and went often, the vendor nodded toward a narrow alley.

It matched what she saw online.

The color of the walls, the metal bars on the windows, the layout of the balconies.

She found it, but she knew she couldn’t confront him unprepared.

She needed tools and protection.

The phone was for one thing only, communication with the group, helping her track the syndicate.

The knife was simple, common, nothing out of place.

But in her hands, it was a message, and the spray was for the moment she knew might come the moment where she would be cornered.

Finally, she bought a disguise.

Nothing extravagant, just enough to blur her identity.

Enough to walk into that building without drawing eyes.

She wasn’t the same woman who once cried into her pillow, begging a stranger for love.

She moved with purpose now driven by a promise she made in the darkest moment of her life.

And the next step was confrontation.

Here is the confrontation scene written with sharp tension, slowb building rage, and clean dramatic storytelling.

No banned words, no repetition, no AI tone.

This section keeps viewers on edge and eager for what comes next.

Marilyn arrived before sunset.

She didn’t rush.

She didn’t panic.

She simply took her place at the far end of the hallway, close enough to watch, far enough to stay unseen.

She had studied the building, memorized the online clues, matched every detail from the victim’s photos.

She knew where he lived.

She knew which door was his, and now all she needed was for him to appear, and then she heard it.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She stepped deeper into the shadows, and the moment she had dreamed of for weeks finally came into view.

There he was.

The man who pretended to be Michael Carter.

The man who claimed to be a widowed soldier.

The man who drained her savings, broke her trust, and mocked her tears.

And he looked nothing like the man in uniform.

No strong jaw, no polished smile, no military posture.

Just an ordinary man with ordinary clothes carrying a bag of instant noodles.

She felt something rise inside her.

A burning pressure that filled her chest, traveled up her throat and shook her entire body.

Rage deep, sharp, and unforgettable.

She remembered every message he sent, every lie he whispered, every peso she handed over, every moment she believed he cared.

And standing just a few feet away, she realized the truth.

This wasn’t a lover.

This wasn’t a soulmate.

This wasn’t destiny robbing her of happiness.

This was a thief.

And now he was close enough to touch.

The rage inside her didn’t fade.

It grew.

It sharpened.

It settled deep in her bones.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t look away.

She let the anger fill her completely because she knew what came next.

Marilyn didn’t think.

She didn’t plan the exact second.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

In one quick motion, she rushed forward, her shoulder slamming against the door just as the lock clicked.

For the first time, the scammer who played soldier, father, and lover looked truly afraid.

The room turned chaotic.

He shouted back at her, demanding she leave, calling her crazy, his voice rising with fear, not guilt.

They argued, shouting over each other, words turning into pure rage.

He tried to push her away.

She stumbled, but she didn’t fall.

When he grabbed her, something inside her snapped.

Months of humiliation, months of hunger, months of watching her daughter cry, months of being laughed at by a stranger who drained her dry.

He lunged toward her, trying to force her out the door.

She felt her back hit the wall.

His weight pressed against her.

Her fingers wrapped around the knife handle.

In the chaos, in the struggle for control, Marilyn thrust her arm forward with everything she had left.

He stared down at the knife, then at her, shocked, confused, unable to process the pain flooding through him.

The second scammer screamed for help, but Marilyn didn’t move.

She stood there, staring at the man who destroyed her world, now lying in a pool of his own blood.

In one instant, the woman who once begged for love became the woman who struck back.

Not out of cold calculation, not out of malice, out of a pain that pushed her to the edge.

And in that blood soaked room, everything she feared, everything she lost, everything she endured came crashing together in one irreversible act.

The moment the knife struck, the building came alive with noise.

Shouts, panic, feet rushing down the hall, doors cracking open as neighbors peaked out, horrified by what they heard.

In seconds, the hallway filled with frightened voices, and someone dialed the police.

The echo of sirens grew louder, closer until blue and red lights washed over the apartment windows.

Inside the room, Marilyn could do nothing but stand there shaking, pale and numb as officers burst through the door.

She didn’t resist.

She didn’t run.

She simply lifted her hands, tears silently rolling down her cheeks as the man who stole her future lay bleeding behind her.

But the police weren’t only reacting to the stabbing.

Once inside, they saw the room for what it truly was.

They found laptops full of conversations with women from different countries, screens flashing with fake profiles, rehearsed scripts, money transfer receipts.

They found phones still ringing, messages from new targets arriving even as Michael lay dying.

And suddenly, the stabbing wasn’t the only crime in the room.

The operation they had been searching for, one tied to hundreds of reports across Asia, was sitting right there in front of them.

The raid spread quickly.

Police swarmed the building, pulling out the remaining members of the group, seizing every device, every document, every piece of evidence.

Victims around the world who never knew they were being hunted were unknowingly saved that night.

And as Marilyn was taken into custody, the truth finally became clear.

She wasn’t the only one they fooled.

She wasn’t the only one they drained.

But she was the first who fought back hard enough to expose the entire operation.

And because of that, the cycle of new victims ended that night inside a dim apartment in Koala Lumpur.

After the raid, Marilyn found herself sitting in a cold interrogation room, handscuffed, eyes swollen, mind empty.

She had exposed the scam.

She had revealed a criminal operation, but she had also taken a life.

The Malaysian court prepared to charge her.

The law was clear.

Someone had died.

No matter the circumstances, she had to face the consequences.

But something unexpected happened.

News of her case reached the Philippines and it spread across social media like wildfire.

People began calling her a fighter, a survivor, a woman who did what many victims only dreamed of doing.

The comments flooded in by the thousands messages of sympathy, support, and heartbreak.

In the Philippines, her name became a symbol of strength, a reminder of how far someone can be pushed before they break.

Advocacy groups defended her.

Women shared their own stories of being targeted by similar scams.

Even strangers raised money to help her through the trial.

The judge listened.

He heard the details of the scam.

He saw the evidence of the syndicate’s crimes.

He read the psychological reports describing her breakdown.

How the manipulation shattered her sense of self, how months of emotional torture destroyed her judgment, and for the first time, Marilyn felt someone in authority truly understood what she had endured.

The verdict came weeks later.

She was found guilty of causing the scammer’s death, but the sentence was reduced, far reduced.

The court acknowledged she had been pushed beyond her limits, emotionally drained, financially ruined, and manipulated by a sophisticated criminal network.

She still had to serve time, but not for murder, not as a monster.

She faced punishment as a victim, pushed into a moment of desperation.

And as she walked out, surrounded by cameras and flashing lights, she realized something.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Her story had opened the eyes of thousands, maybe millions, and saved others from falling into the same trap.

She had lost everything.

Yet in the end, her suffering exposed a network that prayed on the vulnerable.

She stopped them, and people would remember her for that.

Months passed.

Marilyn adjusted to the slow rhythm of prison life.

Days marked by metal gates, timed meals, and long, quiet hours where memories returned whether she wanted them to or not.

A local journalist requested an interview.

Marilyn agreed, not for herself, but for the women out there who might be standing at the edge she once stepped over.

The room fell silent.

Even the guard looked away, moved by the quiet strength in her voice.

Those words traveled far beyond the prison walls.

They echoed online.

They reached women who needed to hear them, and they reminded the world that Marilyn was more than a headline.

Then came the visit she feared and longed for.

the one person whose forgiveness mattered more than anything.

Her daughter walked in, older now, stronger, carrying the pain of the past, but also the love that never left.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, just the sound of their breathing through the receiver.

Marilyn finally opened her mouth to apologize, to explain, to beg for forgiveness, but her daughter spoke first.

The words hit Marilyn harder than any judgment, any sentence, any insult whispered by neighbors.

Her composure steady for months finally broke.

For the first time since the incident, Marilyn cried.

Not because she was weak, not because she was beaten, but because she finally felt seen not as a victim, not as a criminal, but as a mother who fought too hard, hurt too deeply, and survived more than anyone knew.

And that moment was the first step toward healing.

Before you go, I want you to think about something.

Marilyn’s story isn’t just a tragedy.

It’s a warning, a reminder that anyone seeking comfort, love, or companionship can be targeted and broken by people who know exactly how to manipulate hope.

If this story moved you, if it opened your eyes, or if you know someone who needs to hear it, share this video.

You never know who’s quietly falling into a similar trap.

And if you want more real stories, stories that uncover truth, expose lies, and reveal what people go through in the darkest moments of their lives, tap subscribe now, turn on the bell so you never miss the next chapter, and tell me in the comments, what would you have done if you were in Maryland’s place? I’ll be reading every answer.