MY HUSBAND HID A CAMERA IN THE CLOCK RADIO BY MY BED
My fingers caught on a loose plastic panel on the clock radio, and curiosity made me pull harder. It popped off with a quiet snap, revealing a mess of tangled wires and something small, black, and cylindrical nestled inside, half-hidden in the dust and shadows. My heart started a slow, heavy drumbeat against my ribs; this didn’t look like standard electronics from a clock radio made 20 years ago.
I reached inside the dusty cavity and carefully pulled the object free. It was heavier than it looked, the cold metal and hard plastic pressing uncomfortably into my fingertips as I turned it over. Then I saw it – a tiny lens, perfectly aimed at the bed where I sleep every night, and a blinking red light on the side. It was recording. My stomach instantly churned violently, threatening to bring up dinner.
*Recording what?* The question screamed inside my head as blood drained from my face, leaving my skin feeling stretched and cold. His car pulled into the driveway outside at that moment; the familiar engine noise suddenly sounded like a predator approaching its prey. When he walked in, I held the tiny, cold camera out, shaking uncontrollably. “What IS this?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. His face went white immediately. The scent of his usual aftershave suddenly felt suffocating.
He stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes wide and fixed on the camera in my trembling hand. “You weren’t supposed to find that,” he finally said, his voice flat, empty of any emotion I recognized, just resignation. He took a slow step towards me, his hand reaching out slowly, as if to take it. I flinched back automatically, gripping the camera tighter, the cold plastic digging painfully into my palm, a sharp physical anchor in the swirling chaos.
He didn’t say another word, just looked past my shoulder towards the hallway.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*”What were you recording, Michael? *Me*?” I asked, my voice rising with each word, laced with disbelief and a rising tide of fury. He continued to stare past me, his face a mask of guilt and something else I couldn’t quite decipher.
“It’s not what you think,” he mumbled, still not meeting my eyes. He moved past me into the living room, not even acknowledging my questions. He sat down in his usual chair, and ran his hands through his hair, the action oddly frantic. “It started… It started a while ago. I was… I was worried about you.”
“Worried about *me*? By filming me while I sleep? What possible reason could there be that makes this okay, Michael?” My voice was dripping with incredulity. I followed him, the camera still clutched tightly in my hand, the cold metal a constant, biting reminder of his betrayal.
He finally looked up, his eyes filled with a desperate, pleading light. “You were so tired. Always exhausted, sleeping all the time. I thought… I thought maybe something was wrong. I wanted to show a doctor. See if something happened when you were sleeping.”
My anger faltered, just for a moment. This excuse was as flimsy as it was absurd, yet a flicker of something like hope sparked within me. “You could have just asked me, Michael. Talked to me. We could have gone to a doctor together.”
He looked down at his hands, shame evident in every line of his body. “I know. I know. I panicked. I didn’t want to alarm you if it was nothing. It was stupid, I know. I was just scared.”
I stared at him, trying to reconcile the man I loved with the man who had invaded my privacy in such a profound and disturbing way. The trust was broken, shattered into a million pieces like glass.
“I need time to think,” I finally said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I need you to leave. Just… go.”
He didn’t argue. He stood slowly, his eyes still fixed on the floor, and walked out the door. As the sound of his car faded into the distance, I sank onto the bed, the bed the camera had been aimed at. I still held the camera, the cold plastic digging into my skin. Was it fear that drove him, or something more sinister? As I stared at the small lens, all I felt was a profound and heart wrenching sense of betrayal. The clock radio on the bedside table was a relic, a symbol of how far apart we had grown and how easily the bond of trust could be shattered. Only time would tell if it could ever be rebuilt.