For weeks, my husband had been coming home late, hiding money from our bank account, and sleeping in the guest room. I was sure he was having an affair, so I installed hidden cameras in our house. When I watched the footage, I realized he was caught up in something more dangerous than infidelity.
I’ve been married to my husband, Adrian, for 16 years.
He was cheerful, present, and deeply caring toward our two children.
The first time he came home late, I didn’t think much of it.
“You okay?” I asked as he walked in.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just swamped at work.”
He leaned down to kiss my cheek, but he was distracted. The kids were already in bed, tucked away and dreaming, but he didn’t even ask about their day.
A week later, the real alarm bells started ringing.
I was standing in line at the grocery store when I opened our banking app to check something. My heart skipped a beat.
Our checking balance was lower than it should have been. Much lower. Where had all that money gone?
I called Adrian immediately.
“Did we have any big expenses I forgot about?
There are a few withdrawals from our account I don’t recognize.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Probably automatic payments. I’ll look at it later, Ruth.”
He didn’t look at it later.
Soon after that incident, he started disappearing on weekends.
He would tell me he had urgent work tasks and vanish for several hours.
Then he began locking himself in the guest room and sleeping there instead of in our bedroom.
Every time I asked him what was going on, he brushed me off. “It’s just stress at work, honey.
Don’t worry about it.”
How could I not worry?
All the signs were staring me in the face like a neon sign: sudden absences, secret spending, emotional distance, and sleeping in a separate room.
My husband was cheating on me.
I didn’t arrive at that conclusion lightly. Growing up with my mother meant learning that what was said out loud wasn’t always what was true.
I learned early on how to notice the tiny shifts in tone and posture that meant something wasn’t right.
The thought of spying on my own husband disgusted me, but what choice did I have? I needed the truth, even if it destroyed me.
I went online and bought small hidden cameras. I installed them in the guest room, our bedroom, and the kitchen.
I decided to let the cameras record for a day or two to see what was happening in the house while I wasn’t there.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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