I thought I knew my husband after fifteen years, two kids, and a quiet life. But then came the late-night disappearances—Tom slipping out, smelling of smoke and something floral I couldn’t place. The secrets piled up, and my heart sank with the realization: he was hiding something terrible.

One night, I followed him through dark streets to an abandoned building. Inside, the air was thick with chanting and candlelight. In the basement, robed figures circled an altar—Tom in their midst, holding our missing cat, Max. My blood ran cold; this wasn’t betrayal by another woman. It was a cult.

I snapped photos and called 911, then confronted them with pepper spray. The chanting stopped. Tom’s face drained of color as police swarmed in, arresting him and the others. I held Max tight, furious and heartbroken. This was a betrayal unlike any other.

Now, with the cult exposed and Tom in custody, I’m left to rebuild. My priority is my children, my cat, and my own safety. Divorce is inevitable. I trusted the wrong man—and now I have to find strength for the life ahead.