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

Facing My Own Cruelty

My own therapy appointment happened two days after that lunch. I’d been seeing someone individually for a few weeks but hadn’t gone into detail about the revenge campaign.

This session, I decided to tell her everything. The fake choking gasps, the creepy sound app, standing over Rick while he slept, and the makeup video sent to his friends.

My therapist listened without visible judgment, but I could see her taking notes. When I finished, she asked me hard questions about why I chose psychological torture instead of just leaving or confronting Rick directly.,

I tried to explain that I wanted him to understand how it felt. She pushed back gently, asking if I really thought making him suffer would heal my own hurt.

I had to admit that part of me wanted him to suffer the way I suffered. That impulse to cause pain scared me about what kind of person I was capable of being when I was hurt.

My therapist said that was an important realization. Recognizing our capacity for cruelty was the first step in making sure we didn’t act on those impulses again.

The session left me feeling raw and exposed.

A Sunday Dinner Disaster

The family gathering happened because Rick’s mom insisted on a Sunday dinner and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Both our families were there, crowded into his parents’ house.

Rick and I had been avoiding family events, but his mom said it had been too long and she missed seeing us. We showed up separately, which his mom noticed immediately.,

Throughout dinner, people kept asking where we were living now and why we came in different cars. Finally, Rick’s mom asked directly if everything was okay with us.

The table went quiet. Rick and I looked at each other across the pot roast.

I said we were separated and figuring things out. His mom’s face crumpled.

She asked if we were getting divorced. Rick said we didn’t know yet.

My parents looked concerned but stayed quiet. Rick’s sister, Mercedes, asked what happened.

I gave a sanitized version about trust issues and needing space. Rick added that we were both in therapy and trying to work through things.,

His mom started crying, saying she’d hoped we’d give her grandchildren. The rest of dinner was awkward and tense.

People tried to make normal conversation, but everything felt forced. When I left, my mom hugged me tight and whispered that she supported whatever I decided.

Rick’s mom wouldn’t look at me.

The Reality of Legal Terms

The lawyer’s office smelled like old paper and coffee that had been sitting too long. Rick and I sat in chairs that didn’t match, separated by a small table with a box of tissues on it.

The lawyer was a woman in her 50s who looked like she’d heard every terrible marriage story already and ours wouldn’t shock her. She pulled out a folder and started explaining how divorce worked in our state.,

Division of assets meant splitting everything we owned down the middle or figuring out who bought what and when. The apartment lease was in both our names, so we’d need to decide who stayed or if we both moved out.

She talked about timelines—how it would take at least six months from filing to finalization if we agreed on everything, longer if we fought about stuff. The costs added up fast when she listed filing fees and her hourly rate and court costs.

Rick asked about the house we’d been saving for, the down payment sitting in our joint savings account. She said that would be split too, unless we agreed otherwise.,

Hearing her lay it all out in legal terms made everything feel heavy and real in a way our fights never did. This wasn’t just about hurt feelings anymore; this was paperwork and signatures and dividing up the life we’d built together piece by piece.

When we left the office an hour later, neither of us said anything until we got to the parking lot. Rick asked if I wanted to grab lunch, and I said no; I needed to be alone.

I sat in my car for 20 minutes after he drove away, staring at the steering wheel and feeling like I couldn’t breathe right. I made it halfway home before I had to pull over because I was crying too hard to see the road.

One Last Chance

My hands were shaking on the steering wheel and my chest felt tight, like someone was sitting on it. The lawyer’s words kept playing in my head about splitting assets and finalizing the divorce and moving forward separately.,

I grabbed my phone and called Rick without thinking it through. He answered on the second ring, and I just started crying harder when I heard his voice.

I told him I wasn’t ready for this. That sitting in that office made everything too real and I didn’t know if I could actually go through with ending our marriage.

He was quiet for a second then said he felt the same way after leaving. Neither of us wanted to give up completely even though we’d hurt each other so badly.

We stayed on the phone for almost an hour, both of us crying and talking about how we got to this point. Rick said he’d do anything to fix things if I was willing to try.,

I said we needed to give counseling a real shot—not just go through the motions, but actually work on our problems. We agreed to commit to three more months of serious therapy before making any final decisions about divorce.

If we couldn’t fix things in that time, at least we’d know we tried everything. When we hung up, I felt exhausted but also like maybe there was a tiny bit of hope left.

The Counseling Breakthrough

The breakthrough happened in our fourth joint counseling session after we recommitted. The counselor asked Rick to explain why he recorded me.

Instead of his usual excuses about it being sweet or wanting to feel close to me, he just sat there quiet for a long time. Then he said it was a violation and he knew that now.,

He said he took away my ability to consent to being filmed and shared those videos without my permission, and that was wrong no matter what his intentions were. He stopped trying to minimize it or make it sound less serious than it was.

The counselor turned to me and asked about the revenge campaign. I’d been justifying it for weeks, saying Rick deserved to feel scared and exhausted after what he did to me.

But sitting there listening to myself talk, I realized I’d crossed serious ethical lines, too. I’d deliberately tortured him psychologically for weeks, made him paranoid and sleep-deprived to the point where his job and health suffered.

I told the counselor that I’d become someone cruel when I was hurt and that scared me about what I was capable of doing to people. Rick reached over and took my hand, which surprised me.,

We both cried while the counselor talked about how we’d both violated each other’s trust and safety in different ways. For the first time since everything exploded, we weren’t fighting about who was worse or who started it.

We were just two people who’d hurt each other badly and needed to figure out if we could heal.

Practicing Normalcy

The counselor suggested we practice talking outside of sessions, so Rick and I started meeting for coffee once a week. The first time was so awkward I almost left before he showed up.

We sat across from each other at a table by the window and tried to remember how to have a normal conversation. The counselor had taught us this thing where you talk about neutral topics first before getting into anything heavy.

So we talked about work and the weather and this show we used to watch together. Rick told me about a guy at the warehouse who got caught sleeping in the bathroom for the third time.,

I told him about my co-worker’s drama with her teenage daughter. It felt forced and weird at first, like we were strangers on a bad first date, but after a few meetings, it got a little easier.

We could talk about our families without it turning into a fight about whose family handled the separation better. We could discuss plans for the weekend without bringing up the recordings or revenge.

One time Rick made a joke about something stupid his friend said and I laughed—really laughed for the first time in months around him. It was just a small moment, but it felt like progress.,

We weren’t fixed, but we were remembering how to exist together without everything being about the past.

Personal Success Amidst Chaos

Rick texted me one afternoon while I was at work with news about a promotion. His boss had noticed his performance improving over the past month and offered him a supervisor position with better pay and regular hours instead of the rotating shifts he’d been working.

He sent me three excited texts in a row with details about the new responsibilities and pay increase. I felt genuinely happy for him reading those messages.

I texted back congratulations and asked if he wanted to celebrate with dinner. We met at this Italian place near his work and he talked about the promotion with real excitement in his voice.

His sleep had gotten better with therapy and regular sleep patterns instead of my interference, and that helped him focus at work again. Watching him talk about his future plans and goals, I realized I wasn’t feeling bitter or resentful about his success.,

I was actually proud of him for turning things around after everything fell apart. That feeling surprised me because I’d spent so long wanting him to suffer.

Being able to celebrate something good happening to him without my own hurt getting in the way felt like real progress toward healing.