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

Admitting the Cruelty

I told Rick about the full extent of the revenge campaign. I admitted details I hadn’t mentioned before, like the creepy sound app and how I deliberately stood over him to trigger his paranoia.

I explained how I’d planned each sleep disruption to make him as miserable as possible. He got really quiet while I talked.

His face went pale and his hands started shaking. Then he told me he’d had nightmares about me standing there watching him.

He’d wake up in the middle of the night at Reese’s place thinking I was in the room. Hearing me admit I did it on purpose made him realize how genuinely scared he’d been during those weeks.,

He said he understood now what it felt like to not feel safe in your own space, to always be waiting for something bad to happen. His voice was barely a whisper when he said he was sorry for making me feel that way first.

We both started crying, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. We were mourning what we used to have before the recordings and revenge destroyed it.

Rick reached toward me at one point, and I almost took his hand, but I pulled back at the last second and he did too. We both knew that physical comfort wouldn’t fix the broken trust between us.

The trust was gone and probably never coming back. We sat there crying separately for what felt like hours.

Eventually Rick stood up and said he should go. He walked to the door and turned back to look at me one more time.

Then he left, and I heard his car start in the parking lot. I stayed on the couch until the sun came up, thinking about everything we’d lost and wondering if either of us would ever feel whole again.

Questions in the Dark

Rick looked at me across the couch with those tired eyes.

“Do you think we could ever get past this?”

The question hung in the air between us like something heavy. I opened my mouth and then closed it again.

Finally I told him I honestly didn’t know. The recordings made me feel violated and unsafe in my own home.

My revenge made him feel the same way now. We were two people who hurt each other badly and didn’t know how to exist together without that hurt coloring everything.

He nodded slowly, like he expected that answer but hoped for something different. We sat there in silence for another few minutes before he stood up and left without saying goodbye.

The next counseling session happened three days later. Rick showed up 10 minutes early and I got there right on time.

We sat in our usual spots on opposite ends of the counselor’s couch. The counselor, a woman in her 50s with gray hair pulled back in a bun, asked us what we wanted to focus on today.

Rick looked at me and I looked at the floor. She waited.

Finally I said I didn’t know if I could forgive him for what he did. Rick said he didn’t know if he could forgive me either.,

The counselor nodded and started talking about forgiveness and whether it was possible to forgive someone while still choosing not to stay with them. She explained that forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting or excusing what happened.

Sometimes the healthiest choice was to forgive and still walk away from a relationship that had become toxic. Her words made sense in my head, but my chest felt tight hearing them out loud.

Rick wiped his eyes with his sleeve. The counselor asked if we’d thought about what we actually wanted from this marriage.

Did we want to rebuild or were we just going through the motions because divorce felt too final and scary? Neither of us had a good answer.

The session ended with homework to think about what we truly wanted versus what we felt obligated to want.

Rick’s Mental State

Two days after that session, Reese called me out of nowhere. Rick’s brother and I had never been particularly close.,

We’d exchanged pleasantries at family gatherings and that was about it. I almost didn’t answer when his name popped up on my phone, but curiosity won and I picked up.

Reese asked how I was doing in that careful way people use when they already know things are bad. I said I was fine.

He said Rick wasn’t fine. Rick was staying at his place and barely sleeping even without my interference.

Reese thought Rick was dealing with guilt and depression but wouldn’t admit it or get help. Rick just went to work, came home, stared at his phone for hours, then laid in bed staring at the ceiling.

Reese had tried talking to him but Rick shut down every conversation. He asked if I knew what was going on with Rick’s mental state.

I told him about the counseling and the separation and how neither of us knew what we were doing anymore. Reese sighed into the phone.

He said his brother needed more help than just marriage counseling. He asked if I could talk to Rick about seeing someone individually.

I promised I’d try.

I texted Rick that afternoon asking if we could meet up to talk. He agreed to come by the apartment that evening.,

Pushing for Help

When he showed up, he looked even worse than at counseling. His hair was messy and his clothes looked slept in.

I made us both coffee and we sat at the kitchen table. I told him what Reese said about him barely functioning.

Rick got defensive at first, saying Reese was exaggerating and he was handling things fine. I pointed out that he’d gotten written up at work and looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

I suggested he talk to a therapist individually, not just our marriage counselor. The sleep issues and paranoia seemed bigger than just our relationship problems.

He was resistant, crossing his arms and saying therapy was for people who couldn’t handle their own problems. I reminded him his job was at risk.

He needed to function regardless of what happened with us. That seemed to get through to him.

He sat there quiet for a minute, then asked if I really thought it would help. I said I didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt.,

He agreed to look into finding someone before he left. He thanked me for caring enough to bring it up.

The gratitude in his voice made my throat tight.

The Dating Experiment

Two weeks crawled by with minimal contact between us. I focused on work and spent evenings watching shows I’d saved up.

One night Alina convinced me to download a dating app just to see what was out there. I created a profile using old photos from before everything fell apart.

Within an hour I had matches and messages. A guy named Marcus seemed nice enough—worked in IT, liked hiking and trying new restaurants.

We chatted for a few days, then he asked me out for coffee. I said yes, mostly to see if I could imagine myself with someone else.,

The date was fine. Marcus was polite and funny and asked good questions, but I felt guilty the entire time.

Even though Rick and I were separated and I wasn’t technically doing anything wrong. Every time Marcus laughed at something I said, I thought about Rick’s laugh.

When Marcus touched my hand across the table, I pulled back automatically. I realized halfway through the date that I wasn’t ready to move on yet, even though the marriage might be over.

I told Marcus I had a good time but wasn’t in the right headspace for dating. He was understanding about it.

I went home and deleted the app.

The Ugly Text Fight

Three days later, Rick sent me a text at 11:00 at night.

“Are you already replacing me?”

My stomach dropped. I asked what he was talking about.

He sent a screenshot of my dating profile that someone had apparently sent him—probably a mutual friend who saw me on the app. The text fight that followed was ugly.

He accused me of moving on before we’d even figured out what we were doing. I shot back that we were separated and I could do whatever I wanted.

He said I was proving I never actually cared about fixing things. I told him he had no right to be mad after what he did.,

We went back and forth like that for an hour, both of us saying things designed to hurt. Finally I told him to leave me alone and blocked his number.

He must have blocked mine too because my next text wouldn’t deliver. I threw my phone across the room and cried angry tears into my pillow.

Ground Rules and Boundaries

Alina showed up at my apartment the next morning with bagels and coffee. She’d texted asking if I was okay, and when I didn’t respond, she just came over.

I let her in and told her about the fight. I listened while she heard me rant about Rick being a hypocrite and how unfair it was that he got to be mad about a single date when he’d violated my privacy for months.

When I finally ran out of steam, Alina said I needed to unblock Rick and actually talk to him about boundaries and expectations during the separation. Fighting over text and then blocking each other wasn’t solving anything.

I said I didn’t want to talk to him. She pointed out that we were still married and had shared finances and couldn’t just ignore each other forever.,

She was right, but I hated it. That afternoon I unblocked Rick and sent a message asking if we could meet to establish some ground rules.

He agreed. We met at the same coffee shop where we’d had our conversation after he moved out.

Rick got there first and had already ordered my usual drink. The gesture felt loaded with meaning.

We sat down and I pulled out my phone to take notes. I said we needed clear boundaries for the separation.

Rick nodded. We agreed we were separated but not dating other people yet.

We’d communicate about practical matters like bills and the apartment lease. We’d both keep going to counseling individually and together to figure out what we wanted.

No more blocking each other or fighting over text. If we needed to argue, we’d do it in person or in counseling where someone could mediate.,

Rick added that we should be honest about our mental states and not hide if one of us was struggling. I agreed to that.

Writing it all down made the separation feel more real and structured instead of this messy limbo we’d been in before. Before we left, Rick mentioned he’d found a therapist and had his first appointment scheduled.

I told him I was proud of him for taking that step.

Understanding Control

Three weeks later, Rick texted asking if we could grab lunch. When we met up, he looked better than he had in months.

Still tired, but more present somehow. He told me his therapist thought he had control issues and anxiety that showed up in the sleep obsession and recording behavior.

He was working on understanding why he felt the need to document and control his environment so rigidly. Hearing him talk about it without making excuses or trying to minimize what he did made something shift in my chest.,

This was the first time I’d felt a glimmer of hope that maybe he actually understood the severity of what he’d done. I asked what else he was working on in therapy.

He said learning to sit with uncomfortable feelings instead of trying to control everything around him to feel safe. Learning that his need for perfect conditions was actually making his anxiety worse, not better.

I told him I was glad the therapy was helping. He asked how I was doing.

I said I was okay, which was mostly true.