My husband secretly RECORDED me sleeping for months and sent videos to his friends [FULL STORY]

A Battleground of Resentment

We stood there in the kitchen yelling at each other while his phone kept buzzing with new messages from the group chat. I brought up every time I’d found a camera and he’d lied about it.

He brought up the exterminator visits and how much money we wasted because I was making fake mouse sounds. I threw back the hours I’d spent wondering if I was filmed every time I changed clothes or got out of the shower.

He accused me of being vindictive and cruel. I told him he was a creep who violated his wife’s privacy for months.

Our voices got louder and louder until I was pretty sure the neighbors could hear every word. Neither of us would back down. Neither of us would apologize.

We just kept throwing hurt at each other like weapons until we both ran out of things to say and stood there breathing hard and glaring. Rick grabbed his keys off the hook by the door.

“I’m going to stay with Reese for a few days. I can’t be here right now.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it. He just walked into the bedroom, and I heard him throwing clothes into a bag.,

I stayed in the kitchen listening to drawers opening and closing, the closet door sliding, and his footsteps moving back and forth. When he came back out with his duffel bag and his work boots, he still wouldn’t make eye contact.

He walked past me to the door and stopped with his hand on the knob.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Then he left, and the apartment door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow felt louder than if he’d slammed it.

The Empty Silence

The silence after he left felt wrong. The apartment was too quiet without his white noise machine running, his footsteps in the other room, or the sound of him getting ready for work.

I stood in the kitchen for a long time just staring at my cold coffee. The satisfaction I’d felt watching him read those messages was already fading into something hollow and uncomfortable in my chest.

I’d wanted him to feel humiliated the way I felt humiliated. I’d wanted him to understand what he’d done to me, but now that it was done, I just felt empty.,

The revenge hadn’t fixed anything. It hadn’t made me trust him again. It hadn’t erased the months of secret recordings or the comments his friends made about my body.

All it did was make both of us hurt and angry, and now he was gone. I called Alina during my lunch break at work because I needed to talk to someone who wasn’t involved in the whole mess.

She picked up on the second ring, and I just started talking, telling her everything from the beginning. The recordings, the group chat, the revenge campaign with the sounds and the fake sleepwalking and the makeup video.

I told her about the fight this morning and Rick leaving to stay with his brother. She listened to the whole thing without interrupting once.

When I finally stopped talking, she was quiet for a minute. Then she said,

“Okay, so he violated your privacy in a really creepy way and that’s not okay. But you’ve spent weeks focused on making him suffer instead of dealing with how hurt and betrayed you actually feel. And now you’re both miserable and the relationship is falling apart. So what do you actually want here? Do you want to keep punishing him or do you want to figure out if there’s anything left worth saving?” ,

I sat there in my car in the office parking lot holding my phone and couldn’t answer her question. I’d been so focused on revenge that I hadn’t thought about what came after.

I hadn’t dealt with the actual feelings underneath all the anger. The hurt of knowing my husband filmed me without consent, the humiliation of his friends rating my sleeping body, the violation of finding cameras hidden around our bedroom.

I’d just channeled all of it into making Rick feel as bad as I felt. But Alina was right; making him suffer hadn’t healed anything, it just created more damage on top of the damage that was already there.

A Surprising Apology

My phone rang two days later while I was sitting on the couch in sweatpants eating cereal for dinner. The caller ID showed a name I recognized from Rick’s group chat—Joey.,

I almost didn’t answer because I had no idea why one of Rick’s friends would be calling me directly. We’d met maybe three times at barbecues and barely talked, but curiosity won and I picked up.

He started talking before I could even say hello.

“Hey, so I know this is weird me calling you, but I wanted to apologize for the stuff we said in the group chat about the videos. We all thought it was just Rick being an adoring husband who thought you were cute when you sleep. None of us knew he was recording you without your permission or that you had no idea these videos existed.”

He paused, and I heard him take a breath.

“And then I heard about the sleep deprivation stuff you did to get back at him, and it made me realize this whole situation is way more serious than just stupid guy jokes. What Rick did was really messed up and we shouldn’t have been laughing about it.”

I didn’t know what to say for a second. I’d been angry at all of them for months, imagining them sitting around making jokes about my body.,

Hearing Joey actually apologize made something shift in my chest.

“Thanks for saying that. It means something.”

He was quiet for a minute then said,

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re both pretty messed up right now. What he did was wrong. What you did back was also pretty intense. You guys need to figure out if you can fix this or if it’s too broken.”

After we hung up, I sat there thinking about what he said. Too broken. The words kept repeating in my head.

A Contaminated Home

I spent the next two days barely sleeping in the apartment that felt contaminated by everything that happened. Every time I walked into the bedroom, I saw the spots where Rick had hidden cameras.

The shelf where his tablet recorded me, the dresser where his laptop sat at a weird angle pointing at the bed, the plant that concealed the camera I didn’t know we owned. But I also saw the places where I’d set up the creepy sound app and the side of the bed where I’d stood at 3:00 in the morning staring at him until he woke up terrified.

We’d both turned our home into a battlefield. Neither of us could feel safe or comfortable here anymore.

The bedroom especially felt poisoned. I tried sleeping on the couch, but that didn’t help because the whole apartment carried the weight of what we’d done to each other.

My phone buzzed with a text from Rick on the third day.

“Can we talk? Coffee shop on Maple.”

I stared at the message for a long time before typing back.

“Okay.”

We agreed to meet at 2:00. I got there first and grabbed a table by the window.

When Rick walked in 10 minutes later, I barely recognized him. He had dark circles under his eyes that made him look sick.

His shoulders slumped forward instead of his usual confident posture. He’d lost weight; his clothes hung looser than they should.,

He sat down across from me and we just looked at each other for a minute without saying anything. He looked terrible—exhausted and defeated and sad.

I probably didn’t look much better. Rick cleared his throat and wrapped both hands around his coffee cup.