My Husband Started Sneaking out of the House at Night — I Thought He Was Cheating but the Truth Was Far, Far Worse

I had always thought I knew my husband. I mean, we had been together for fifteen years, had two kids, and a cat named Max. Our life was comfortable. Predictable. But that was before I started noticing the late-night disappearances.

At first, it was just the usual restlessness. The occasional midnight trip to the kitchen or a drink of water. But then it became something else altogether. Tom would slip out of bed, tiptoe down the hall, and disappear into the night.

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to his quiet footsteps fade away. At first, I told myself I was imagining things. But every night, around the same time, he’d leave. And every time, he’d return hours later, smelling like smoke and something else. It was floral, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“He’s cheating,” I muttered to myself, the realization settling in like a stone in my stomach. I didn’t want to believe it, but the signs were all there: the secrecy, the distance, the unexplained absences.

It all pointed to one thing.

But before I confronted him, I needed proof. I wasn’t going to let him weasel out of this one with some half-baked excuse.

“We need more proof, Mer,” I told myself.

So, one night, I decided that enough was enough. I needed to know more, and sitting at home while Tom was out doing whatever just wasn’t going to give me the answers I needed.

I waited until he’d snuck out, then I grabbed my coat and slipped into my boots, which I had left out after dinner. Then, I followed him.

“It’s okay, Mer,” I told myself as I followed Tom. For some reason, my anxiety was through the roof because I had no idea what I was walking into.

I trailed him down our quiet street, hoping that the kids wouldn’t wake up in our absence. I kept my distance, ducking behind trees and parked cars, trying hard to stay out of sight.

Tom moved quickly, like he had somewhere to be. His head was down, his shoulders were hunched against the chill, and there was a sense of determination to his step.

“Who is she, Tom?” I muttered to myself. “And is she really worth all this fuss?”

After a few minutes, my husband turned a corner, and I almost lost sight of him. I quickened my pace, my breath fogging in the cold night air. Tom led me through a maze of back streets and alleyways, which confused me even more. At one point, I thought that Tom had seen me because a stray kitten tried to get my attention, meowing as she tried to get closer to me.

It made my heart pang. Max, my cat, hadn’t been seen for the past two days, and while I knew that he would find his way back home, I still couldn’t wait to see him again.

“Where the heck are we going?” I asked the night air around me.

Finally, Tom stopped in front of an old building. It looked abandoned, with the windows boarded up, paint peeling from the walls, and a large broken gargoyle resting on the ground.

Tom glanced around, and when he was satisfied that nobody was around, he slipped inside.

“Oh boy,” I said.

I wished I had brought someone along with me. Everything felt off about this place, and my gut kept telling me that I wasn’t safe here.

“You can do this, Mer,” I said to myself as my hand hovered on the door handle.

But honestly, what was my husband doing in a place like this? Was he really meeting someone? What woman would willingly choose to come to this type of place?

I couldn’t bear the thought. So, before I let my mind run laps any further, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping into absolute darkness.

The air was thick and musty with the smell of damp. And I could hear voices coming from somewhere. It took me a few minutes to realize that the voices were muffled and chanting something.

“It’s coming from below,” I told myself.

I blinked a few times, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the darkness. And when they did, I moved forward, following a faint light that seemed to be the glow of candles coming from a basement.

As I walked down the stairs, the chanting grew louder and louder. The words were indistinguishable, but they were rhythmic and almost hypnotic. I reached the bottom of the stairs and peered around, trying to find who was chanting.

What I saw made my blood run cold. Truly.

There was Tom, wearing a dark robe, standing in the center of the large basement, which was bathed in candlelight. He was surrounded by people in matching robes who held hands and were chanting, their voices low and guttural, as if summoning something.

My heart raced when I realized what I was seeing. This wasn’t an affair. Tom wasn’t meeting a woman to romance her. This was something far, far worse.

A cult. My husband belonged to a cult.

But that wasn’t even the worst part!

I stifled a gasp when I saw what was in his hands. Max, our cat. The same sweet little boy who I hadn’t seen for two days now.

When I saw the table or altar that Tom stood in front of, I saw a brass bowl, rose petals, and a large knife.

Were they really going to sacrifice my baby?!

I knew I had to act fast. I pulled out my phone, snapping a few photos quickly. The lighting was pathetic, but the candlelight helped in showing Tom’s face. And a few of the cultists.

Once I had the evidence, I backed away as quickly and as quietly as I could. I dialed 911 with shaking hands, whispering my location to the dispatcher, desperately praying that they’d get to me in time.

I was praying they’d get to Max in time…

I thought of my sweet boy and how he would jump onto the bed every morning when he was hungry. Or how he’d follow me to the bathroom at every chance.

“No, you can’t let anything happen to him,” I said.

I took a deep breath and bolted down the stairs, not caring about being quiet or remaining unknown.

“If you lay a hand on my cat, I will see to it that you’re all charged with animal abuse,” I declared loudly.

The chanting stopped immediately, and every head in the basement turned to me. My husband’s face went pale as his eyes widened.

“Meredith?” he stammered. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here!”

Everyone looked confused and kept glancing at each other, unsure of what to do. But then a man stepped forward with authority.

The leader?

He was tall and had a wild look in his eyes.

“You don’t belong here,” he growled, his voice low and threatening as he walked toward me.

I didn’t wait for him to get any closer. I pulled out the can of pepper spray from my coat and aimed it straight at his face. The man screamed, clutching his eyes.

“Max, come!” I shouted.

I burst out of the building, Max at my feet, just as the police arrived, their lights flashing in the desolate area, their sirens echoing through the night.

“They’re down here!” I screamed, picking Max up and holding him tightly. “They were about to sacrifice my cat!”

The officers rushed past me, guns drawn and determined looks plastered on their faces. Moments later, they re-emerged with several people in dark robes, all in handcuffs, including Tom.

“Meredith, please,” he started to say.

“I don’t want to hear it. I can’t even look at you right now, Tom.”

The officers took Max from me and handed him over to someone from Animal Control.

“Don’t worry, it’s just to check him out, and you’ll get him right back,” an officer said.

After that, two officers told me everything they had found.

“There were drugs found at the altar, ma’am. Apparently, they were used as part of an initiation for new recruits. The whole sacrificing of Max was supposed to be a celebration of their new members. We’ll know more when we get these guys back to the station for more questioning. But they’ve been arrested for animal cruelty and drug possession.”

Tom kept begging for my forgiveness as they led him into the back of a police car. But I wasn’t about to give in.

This was truly worse than any affair. This was a different type of betrayal altogether.

Who had I married? Who was this man who shared children and an entire life with me?

A police officer took me home with Max curled up on my lap, his purring a small comfort in this mess.

“How long will Tom stay in? What happens next?” I asked.

“They’ll be in a holding cell tonight, ma’am. And then we’ll get started with questioning and see how much deeper this goes. Your husband will have access to a public defender, but the law will take its course.”

I nodded. Now I had big decisions to make. But they all started with me getting my kids out of that house and moving in with my mother. The divorce would come next.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you:

Husband Talked in His Sleep — I Was Stunned When I Uncovered His 20-Year Secret Because of It

When Liz’s husband, Jack, talks in his sleep, he says something that piques her curiosity. Following his words, she decides to search the basement that he spoke about in his sleep. What she doesn’t expect is for her marriage to implode due to the contents of an old suitcase.

When my husband, Jack, is very tired, he talks in his sleep. After almost 20 years of marriage and raising two kids, I’d gotten used to his sleepy mumblings. They were generally harmless little things, often about work, fishing, or his car.

But last night, something he said made the hair on my arms stand on end.

“Don’t go into the basement,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. A few minutes later, he mumbled again.

“Liz, don’t open this.”

Then, with a final murmur, he sighed deeply.

“They’ll find out about the suitcase.”

What suitcase? What was this man talking about?

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.