Have you ever come face to face with pure evil?

The Descent into Betrayal

My wife joined a feminist social circle and started calling me a controlling a-hole, asking for an open relationship. She was the one mistreating our kids, so I filed for divorce and accidentally ruined her life. I used to love feminists until I met my wife.

For a while, we were perfect, but then she met a fresh social circle. These women weren’t just opinionated; nothing could satisfy them.

Hold a door for them: “You think all women are children and can’t do anything for themselves”. Don’t hold it: “You’re disrespectful and entitled”. Walk behind them: “You’re a creep”. Walk ahead: “You’re an egotistical a-hole”.

I thought I could trust my wife not to follow the herd, but she did. She ended up ruining more than just her life and our marriage in the process.

It all started with a simple few arguments here and there. I’d leave my plates in the sink after a 14-hour shift, and suddenly I was the reason for every abuser that wasn’t convicted.

If I started helping with our kids’ homework, she’d pull me aside and tell me I’m inherently problematic and my mansplaining just proves it. The warm, loving woman I married seemed to be vanishing before my eyes. She was replaced by someone cold and antagonistic.

About then, an awful gut feeling washed over me. I was playing video games with my son and went to high-five him, but then my stomach turned because he flinched. I immediately noticed and talked to my wife about it.

She told me I had a fragile male ego. Her reasoning was that our son wasn’t actually flinching. I was just lying to myself to feel stronger and more powerful than her because I was insecure. This was confusing and not at all reassuring.

From then on, I made sure to pay extra close attention to our daughter and son every day. I watched as they slowly became less and less like their energetic selves and more timid. My son even started wetting the bed at night.

I cared endlessly more about our kids’ well-being than the state of my marriage. One day, I came home early to a parked car in our driveway. My heart broke.

Instead of confronting her, I drove off to a diner and came back a few hours later. I proceeded to ask her who she was bringing home when I was at work all day.

“My friends. Am I not allowed to have a life outside of this miserable house?”

My heart dropped. It suddenly became very clear that she didn’t give an f about our family. She was not the woman I thought she was.

As our children turned from more timid to actively fearful, I decided to take away one of her fundamental human rights: her right to privacy. When I checked her phone, most messages were deleted.

What remained was alarming. It was a conversation with one of her new friends discussing how Kayla should approach asking me for an open relationship. The friend advised her to ease into it and make him think it’s his idea too.

Obviously, she was cheating, but I didn’t even care about that anymore. I just needed to know who was laying hands on our kids. In my head, this is what I’m thinking: I needed to formulate a plan that allowed me to get full custody of the kids.

Since there was no prenup, I had to make sure I was left with enough that would still allow me to be a good father. When Kayla casually brought up the idea of open relationships over breakfast, like it was just a random thought that had occurred to her, I was prepared.

I had my phone recording in my pocket. She stirred her oatmeal nonchalantly.

“I was reading about these couples who have open relationships. What do you think about that concept?”

I didn’t yell; I didn’t scream. Instead, I looked her straight in the eyes and asked with a clenched jaw.

“Who is he?”

Her cocky demeanor vanished instantly, like a mask sliding off.

“What do you mean?”

She stammered, but I wasn’t falling for her innocence anymore. Eventually, Kayla confessed to two one-night stands while I was working.

She explained that when they came over, she forced our kids to sleep on the hardwood floor while she made love with them in the other room. It was loud enough for them to hear. Hence, their timidness and increased anxiety.

They were both married men with children of their own. They were fathers who, like me, probably thought they had loving, committed relationships with her.

Then came the bombshell. She was planning to sleep with a colleague at work and intended to pursue it because “it’s good for her”.

“I don’t have any right to control her.”

The way she said it, with defiance rather than remorse, made it clear this wasn’t a confession. It was a declaration of independence from our marriage vows.

The absurdity escalated when she mentioned setting me up with one of her friends who was really keen on me.

“She thinks you’re hot,” Kayla said, as though offering me some kind of consolation prize.

I’ve seen this friend: perpetually angry, loud, and physically unpleasant. I wouldn’t touch her with a 10-foot pole. My head was spinning, but I maintained enough composure to ask for her phone.

With surprising compliance, she showed her unlock pattern while she used the bathroom. I locked myself in my office. She pounded on the door while I ran recovery software.

I uncovered painful evidence of explicit conversations, plans for meetups, and disparaging comments about me and our marriage. I also installed a monitoring app before returning her phone.

I told her to leave. Her response wasn’t remorse; it was indignation. She yelled about me being controlling, holding her back like men always held women back throughout history.

She claimed I never truly loved her, that I only wanted to possess her. She had every right to do this and expected me to just accept it as the new normal for our marriage.

Through her tirade, I silently packed her things. I stood at the front door until she ran out of steam and left for her parents’ house.

As she walked down the stairs, I said:

“You single now. Do whatever you want. I’m not controlling you anymore. My lawyer will be in touch in January.”

Before she could reply, I slammed and locked the door. My hands shaking uncontrollably as the finality of what had just happened washed over me.