Pastor Stalks Wife to Grave

Several Bible editions stacked on a bookshelf.

The most trusted voice in a Myrtle Beach church now stands accused in federal court of stalking his estranged wife by screen and smartphone until the day she died.

Story Snapshot

A former Myrtle Beach pastor faces federal cyberstalking and false-statement charges tied to his wife’s suicide.
Prosecutors say the harassment followed his estranged wife “until her death” in a North Carolina state park.
The case exposes how digital abuse and spiritual authority can collide behind church doors.
Federal action raises the stakes for spouses who weaponize technology instead of honoring vows.

The Pastor, The Marriage, And The Digital Trail To A State Park

John Paul “JP” Miller was not just another husband in crisis; he was a well-known Myrtle Beach pastor whose sermons once shaped the spiritual vocabulary of his congregation. According to a federal indictment out of South Carolina, that public image masks a private nightmare in which Miller allegedly used technology to cyberstalk his estranged wife, 30-year-old Mica Miller, as their marriage unraveled and finally ended with her death in a North Carolina state park. Prosecutors now claim that harassment continued right up “until her death,” a phrase that changes this from a sad domestic collapse into a case with federal teeth.

Mica’s body was discovered in that park months before the December 18, 2025 announcement that a federal grand jury had indicted Miller on two counts: cyberstalking and making a false statement. The indictment does not accuse him of killing her, but it does something many battered spouses never live to see. It labels the digital behavior—messages, contact, communications—as alleged federal crime, not just “marital drama.” Her last chapter, once summarized as a tragic suicide, now sits in the shadow of a husband who must answer for what he allegedly did to her online and across state lines.

From Pulpit Authority To Federal Defendant

The contrast could not be starker: one day, Miller is the man people trust with weddings, funerals, and counsel; now he appears in court documents as the estranged husband whose alleged campaign of cyber-harassment became the focus of a U.S. Attorney’s Office. Federal prosecutors say the case qualifies for interstate cyberstalking because the conduct crossed state borders and used modern communications tools. That matters beyond this one marriage. It signals that the federal government does not see abuse by clergy as a theological problem to be handled “in-house,” but as potential crime guided by the same statutes that apply to anyone else.

For conservatives who value both religious liberty and personal responsibility, this alignment makes sense. The First Amendment protects sermons, not stalking. Pastoral authority is meant to serve families, not to give a husband a softer landing when evidence suggests he crossed legal lines. Mica’s family, represented by attorney Regina Ward, has pushed hard for that distinction. Their public posture does not demand a particular verdict, but it insists that the process treat Miller as any other citizen: innocent until proven guilty, but not insulated by his former title or the halo effect of years behind a pulpit.

Cyberstalking, Suicide, And The Modern Face Of Domestic Abuse

This case hits a nerve because it shows how twenty-first century abuse rarely looks like a Lifetime movie stereotype. Cyberstalking allows a determined spouse to follow, pressure, humiliate, or terrorize a partner without ever stepping across a physical threshold. Federal law recognizes this pattern: repeated, unwanted digital contact that causes substantial emotional distress can trigger serious penalties when proven in court. When the indictment links that pattern to the period “until her death,” it forces hard questions about how psychological pressure and despair can build long before a final act in a quiet park.

That connection does not mean a jury will—or should—see Miller as legally responsible for Mica’s decision to end her life. The indictment stops short of that leap, and American justice requires a rigorous separation between accusation and proof. But common sense tells many observers that relentless digital harassment, especially from a spouse who also holds spiritual influence, can warp a victim’s sense of safety and hope. Conservative values emphasize covenant, protection, and restraint within marriage; when a husband uses the tools of the age to track and torment instead of shield and cherish, he breaks something more profound than public law.

Church Abuse, Public Trust, And What Happens Next

Miller’s former congregation, and the broader Myrtle Beach faith community, now must reckon with its own role in the story. A high-profile pastor’s indictment for cyberstalking an estranged wife feeds into the wider #ChurchToo conversation, in which victims allege that some churches protect image and leadership over the vulnerable. This case stands out because the accountability did not start in a church boardroom; it came from a federal grand jury in Florence and Columbia. That shift from sanctuary to courtroom sends a clear signal: when church structures fail to protect victims, the state still can—and will—intervene.

The legal path ahead for Miller includes trial, potential conviction, and sentencing if prosecutors prove their case. For Mica’s family, no verdict revives a daughter or erases what they describe, through their attorney, as a long, painful struggle for safety. Yet federal action may reshape how other pastors, spouses, and congregants think about “private” communications in toxic marriages. Digital footprints rarely vanish, and neither does the responsibility that comes with wielding spiritual influence over another person’s life. If this case pushes churches to install real accountability and encourages abused spouses to treat online harassment as a crime, not a cross to silently bear, then Mica’s story may still alter how others live—and how others are finally protected.