After my wife Elizabeth’s tragic car accident, a fortuneteller at her funeral told me, “Her death was no accident.” What I uncovered next revealed a terrifying secret.

I never imagined I’d become a widower at 35. Elizabeth was my anchor, my partner, and the mother of our two little girls. Suddenly, she was gone, taken in an instant by a car crash. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, lost in the shock of her absence. After five years of marriage, she was just… gone.

The funeral was unbearable. Our daughters, Sophie and Emma, only four and five years old, kept asking, “Where’s Mommy?” I had no idea how to answer. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? Thankfully, Elizabeth’s parents and sister were there to help handle the arrangements.

After the service, as I walked to my car in a daze, I felt someone watching me. At first, I thought it was just my grief playing tricks on me, but then I saw her—an old woman standing near the cemetery gates.

She looked ancient, her face etched with deep lines, her sharp eyes piercing through me as if she could see straight into my soul.

“Excuse me,” she called softly.

I hesitated but didn’t respond. I was too drained for conversation, especially with a stranger.

“I know your fate,” she said, her voice serious.

I frowned. “What?”