I had always thought I knew my husband, Tom. We’d been married for fifteen years, had two kids, and a cat named Max. Our life was comfortable and predictable—until Tom started sneaking out late at night.
At first, I dismissed his restlessness as harmless. But his nightly disappearances soon became routine. Tom would leave in the dead of night, returning hours later smelling of smoke and a floral scent I couldn’t identify.
Suspicion gnawed at me. I convinced myself he was cheating, though I wanted to believe otherwise. I needed proof before confronting him. So, one night, I decided to follow him.
I slipped into my coat and boots and trailed Tom through our quiet neighborhood. He walked quickly, his head down, leading me through a labyrinth of back streets. I tried to stay hidden, anxiety spiking with every step. At one point, a stray kitten’s meows made me think of Max, who had been missing for days.
Tom eventually arrived at an old, abandoned building. My heart pounded as I followed him inside. The place was dark and musty, the air thick with a strange smell. Muffled chanting grew louder as I descended a set of stairs.
At the basement, candlelight revealed a chilling scene. Tom, in a dark robe, stood with robed figures around an altar. Max was on the table, surrounded by rose petals and a large knife. They were preparing for a ritualistic sacrifice.
My blood ran cold. I had to act quickly. I took photos of the scene, then fled upstairs, dialing 911 with trembling hands. I shouted for help, hoping the authorities would arrive in time to save Max.
Bursting outside, I clutched Max as police sirens blared. The officers stormed the building and soon emerged with Tom and the others, all in handcuffs. They were arrested for animal cruelty and drug possession.
Tom’s pleas for forgiveness were hollow. This betrayal was beyond infidelity; it was a profound violation of trust. With Max safe in my arms, I faced the hard reality of starting over. This ordeal showed me that betrayal can come in forms more horrific than imagined.