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

Dividing the Shared Life

I found a small one-bedroom apartment I could afford on my own, about 20 minutes from work. The place was nothing special, but it had good light and the landlord seemed normal.

I called Rick and asked if he’d help me move my stuff from our shared apartment. He showed up on moving day with his truck and we spent hours packing boxes and loading furniture.

It was weird going through our shared space and dividing things up. I took the cheap couch we’d bought at a thrift store when we first got married.,

He kept the TV and the coffee table his mom gave us. We had to figure out who got which dishes and towels and all the random stuff you accumulate living together.

Some things we just split down the middle. Working together to carry boxes and furniture down three flights of stairs felt both sad and healing at the same time.

We were acknowledging that we needed separate spaces to figure out if we could ever share space again. Rick helped me unload everything at the new place and set up my bed frame.,

Before he left, he stood in my empty living room and said the apartment was nice and he hoped I’d be happy here. I thanked him for helping and we hugged briefly at the door.

After he drove away, I sat on my couch in my own place for the first time and cried because it felt like the end of something, even though we were supposedly still trying to work things out.

The Reconnection Date

Three months into serious counseling work, the counselor suggested we try a reconnection date. She explained it as a chance to see if we could enjoy each other’s company the way we used to before everything fell apart.

We picked this restaurant we used to love—a little Mexican place with good margaritas and live music on weekends. Before we went, we agreed not to talk about the recordings or the revenge or therapy or any of the heavy stuff, just dinner like a normal couple.

I changed my outfit three times before leaving my apartment because I was nervous in a way I hadn’t been around Rick in years. We met at the restaurant and he was already at a table when I walked in.,

He stood up when he saw me and pulled out my chair, which was something he used to do when we first started dating. We ordered our usual dishes and talked about safe topics.

Rick told me about his new responsibilities at work; I talked about this true crime podcast I’d been listening to. The conversation flowed easier than I expected.

The live band started playing and Rick asked if I remembered the first time we came here. I did.

We’d gotten so drunk on margaritas that we walked home instead of driving and got lost for an hour. Remembering that night made us both laugh, and suddenly we were swapping other memories from early in our relationship.,

The time his car broke down on our way to his parents’ house, the awful apartment we looked at that had a toilet in the kitchen, the way we used to cook dinner together and dance in the kitchen for a couple hours.

We were just us again without all the hurt between us. The drive home from the restaurant felt different.

The Cracked Foundation

Rick offered to drive me back to my apartment and we sat in his truck outside my building talking. He said he’d had a really good time tonight and forgot how much he enjoyed just being with me.

I admitted the same thing. But then we both got quiet because we knew having one good night didn’t mean everything was fixed.,

Rick brought up how the foundation of trust between us was still cracked, even if we could have good moments. I agreed that we’d done serious damage to each other that wouldn’t disappear just because we could laugh together again.

We talked about whether we were actually rebuilding something or just delaying the inevitable end. Neither of us had an answer.

Rick asked if I thought we’d ever get back to what we had before. I told him honestly that I didn’t think we could go back, but maybe we could build something different if we both kept working.

We sat in the truck for another 30 minutes going in circles about the same questions. Finally I said I should go inside and get some sleep.,

Rick kissed my cheek before I got out, which he hadn’t done in months. I went up to my apartment feeling confused about whether tonight was progress or just a reminder of what we’d lost.

Living with the Trauma

The next counseling session got heavy when Rick admitted he’d been having nightmares. He said he kept dreaming about me standing over him watching him sleep, and even though he knew rationally I wasn’t doing that anymore, the paranoia stuck with him.

Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night convinced someone was in his room. He’d installed extra locks on his door at his brother’s place and started sleeping with a light on.

Hearing him describe how my revenge affected him long-term made something shift in my chest. I’d known I scared him during those weeks, but I didn’t fully understand that I’d given him actual trauma that lasted beyond the immediate revenge.,

The counselor asked how that made me feel, and I had to sit with the question for a minute. I felt genuinely sorry in a way I hadn’t let myself feel before.

I’d been so focused on justifying my actions as deserved punishment that I didn’t let myself see the real harm I caused. I looked at Rick and apologized without any excuses or qualifications—just a straight apology for traumatizing him and making him feel unsafe in his own home.

He looked surprised and said,

“Thank you.”

The counselor pointed out this was the first time either of us had taken full responsibility without defending ourselves, and that was significant progress. The counselor turned to me and asked if I had any lingering effects from Rick’s recordings.

I’d been trying not to think about it too much, but once she asked, everything came up. I told them how I still check for cameras in any bedroom I’m in, even at hotels or friends’ houses.,

My eyes automatically scan for little red recording lights or devices positioned weirdly. I have trouble sleeping anywhere because I’m always aware someone might be watching.

Even in my own apartment, where I know there are no cameras, I sometimes can’t shake the feeling of being observed. I told Rick about how I bought blackout curtains and covers for my laptop camera and a device that detects hidden cameras.

The paranoia became part of my daily routine in a way I couldn’t seem to shake. Rick looked upset hearing all this and said he was sorry again.

The counselor let us sit with that for a minute then said something that hit hard. She pointed out that we’d both traumatized each other in ways that wouldn’t disappear with apologies and therapy.,

Scars that Last Forever

These were real psychological impacts that might last years or forever. That reality was sobering because it meant even if we stayed together and worked through everything else, we’d both be carrying these scars.

We’d both always be the person who hurt the other in a fundamental way. Neither of us said anything for the rest of the session.

We just sat there holding that truth between us. The next session felt different from the moment we walked in.

The counselor had this serious look on her face and she didn’t waste time with small talk. She asked us straight out if we thought the marriage could recover.

The silence stretched out so long I could hear the clock ticking on her wall. Rick shifted in his seat, cleared his throat twice, then finally spoke.,

He said he loved me but didn’t know if love was enough when we’d hurt each other this badly. His voice cracked a little on the word “badly.”

I looked at my hands and agreed that maybe the healthiest thing was to let each other go and work on healing separately. Saying it out loud made it real in a way all our fights and separation hadn’t.

The counselor nodded slowly and said she thought that was a mature decision. She told us she’d support whatever we decided but that continuing to hurt each other while trying to fix things wasn’t helping anyone.

A Mature Departure

We spent the next session talking about how to separate in the healthiest way possible. The counselor had this whole plan about maintaining boundaries during the divorce process and continuing individual therapy.,

She said we needed to decide if we wanted to stay in contact or go completely separate ways. Rick said he thought some contact made sense for practical stuff but that we should probably not try to be friends right away.

I agreed because the idea of casual friendship felt impossible when I still had so much hurt. We made the decision to move forward with divorce—not out of anger, but out of acceptance that we’d become toxic to each other.

The counselor wrote down some recommendations for divorce mediators and reminded us both that ending a marriage didn’t mean we’d failed, just that we’d grown in different directions. Walking out of that office felt lighter somehow, like we’d finally stopped fighting gravity.

Filing for divorce turned out to be surprisingly boring—just paperwork and signatures and a clerk who looked like she’d processed a thousand of these and would process a thousand more. The lawyer’s office smelled like coffee and old carpet.

Rick and I sat next to each other filling out forms, and at one point our hands bumped reaching for the same pen. We both pulled back like we’d been shocked.,

The whole thing took maybe two hours, and then we had a court date months away. Standing outside the courthouse afterward, neither of us knew what to say.

Rick suggested lunch, which seemed weird but also necessary. We went to this diner we used to go to sometimes and talked about practical things like dividing furniture and updating our families.

I told him he could have the white noise machine and the fancy pillow. He said I could keep the coffee maker since I actually used it.

There was a strange peace in having made a clear decision after months of uncertainty. We weren’t happy exactly, but we weren’t fighting anymore either.

Reclaiming Safety Alone

My new apartment was small but it was mine. I spent a whole weekend decorating and organizing and creating a space that felt entirely like me.,

I bought new curtains—not blackout ones, just regular curtains that let morning light in. I set up my bedroom however I wanted without worrying about someone else’s sleep schedule.

There were no cameras, no hidden recordings, and no devices tucked in weird places. The freedom to control my own environment without considering someone else’s rigid requirements felt amazing.

I could turn on lights at night if I needed to pee. I could stay up late watching TV in bed.

I could sleep however I wanted without wondering if someone was filming me. The first night I slept there, I woke up at 3:00 in the morning and just lay there enjoying the silence and the safety.

No white noise machine, no paranoia—just me in my own space.,