Welcome back to Jealous or Justified, Beautiful Machine’s thought-provoking and always unpredictable column where readers bring us their dilemmas, and we turn to you—our intelligent, open-minded audience—to help decide: are they being reasonable… or is something deeper at play?

This week, we’ve received one of the most unique, challenging letters in the history of this column. It’s intimate, complex, and layered in ways most of us will never experience—but still, it touches on universal themes of boundaries, respect, and the right to one’s body.

Let’s dive in.

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The Policy of Love Has Me Questioning Everything

By Nervous Nelvin

When I met Shella, I truly believed I had lucked up. She was gorgeous, smart, emotionally stable, and financially ahead of the game. She knew investing like the back of her hand and even taught me a few things about stocks. We clicked on all levels.

Early on, she told me she had been single for a while after her ex passed away in what she vaguely called a “freak accident.” I didn’t pry—it seemed like a painful topic, and honestly, we were having such a good time, I didn’t want to dig up old wounds. Maybe I should’ve.

Fast-forward to now: we’ve moved in together, and things are serious. Then, one night over dinner, she calmly suggests we take out life insurance policies on each other. Her words: “Just for responsibility.”

Sounded reasonable… until she added, “I had a million-dollar policy on my ex. That’s what started my investment portfolio.”

Suddenly, my appetite vanished.

I asked her again what happened to her ex. She said he died of food poisoning—an allergic reaction. She went quiet and explained that she doesn’t like talking about it because people “look at her funny.”

Well, now I’m looking.

I did some digging. There’s no public record I can find, no obituary, no news article. The deeper I go, the more confusing and vague it all becomes. That “freak accident” doesn’t feel so accidental anymore.

So here I am: living with a woman who’s asking me to sign a life insurance policy, while still haunted by a mystery man who made her a millionaire. I haven’t signed anything. I can’t sleep. I don’t know if I’m being dramatic or if I’m in the first act of a true crime documentary.

Jealous… or Justified?

That’s where I need you, Beautiful Machine readers.

Is this just fear talking? Am I letting her success and past spook me? Or is there something in my gut that’s screaming the truth?

Tell me honestly—am I overreacting, or is this a red flag waving in my face?