Last night, I noticed my husband was in our one-month-old baby’s room, even though he had just left the house. I went into the nursery and saw something terrifying… 😱😱
My husband and I recently became parents. Our first child turned our lives upside down. The first weeks felt like a movie — exhausted but happy. I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband, so tenderly holding our son. He seemed like the perfect father.
But something started to change. At first, it was small things — he stayed late at work more often, became irritable, gave short answers. Every evening, as soon as Artyom fell asleep, he’d ask for “an hour to himself.” He’d lock himself in his office or just leave without saying where.
It hurt me. I thought maybe he was tired, or maybe he had postpartum depression — fathers go through a lot too. I gave him space. But yesterday, everything changed.
Our son woke up crying in the night. I was about to go to his room, but instinctively looked at the baby monitor. The camera showed the baby had just lost his pacifier and had already calmed down. But then… I noticed movement in the corner of the frame.
I froze. There was my husband on the screen. He stood in the dim light, motionless, staring at the crib. But… he had just left the house. I heard the front door close!
I gasped. I jumped up and rushed to the nursery. What I saw horrified me 😱😢
There was no one there but our son. No husband, no sound. A few minutes later, he came back inside with a shopping bag, calm as if nothing had happened.
I couldn’t take it. I showed him the video from the camera. He went pale, sank to the floor, and whispered:
— I thought it would never happen again…
He told me that in his youth, he was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder. Over the years, the symptoms nearly disappeared, and he thought it was gone for good.
But after our son was born, another personality “awoke” inside him. He didn’t remember what happened when it “took control.” And that part of him… hated babies. An inexplicable, dangerous hatred.
He cried. Said he’d noticed blackouts, strange dreams, items he didn’t remember taking. He thought he was losing his mind.
He begged for forgiveness. Promised not to be afraid and to seek medical help, to go to a clinic. And I… I wanted to believe him.
But that night, when he fell asleep on the couch, I checked his phone. There was a voice message recorded on the recorder — one he apparently hadn’t heard himself. In a male voice, but strange, muffled, and angry, someone whispered:
— Tomorrow. Tomorrow we get rid of him.
I couldn’t risk it anymore. In the morning, he woke up in an empty apartment. I took our son and left to stay with my parents.
Now we live in another city. He’s receiving treatment. We communicate through a lawyer. I don’t know who he was at that moment — a father or a monster. But now, I only trust myself.
