I always thought I knew my husband, Tom. Fifteen years together, two kids, and a cat named Max—our life was predictable. But then Tom started sneaking out at night, and my world unraveled.

One night, I decided to follow him. He led me to an abandoned building, its eerie presence sending chills down my spine. Inside, I discovered a basement lit by candles and filled with people in dark robes, chanting. Tom stood in the center, holding Max. My heart raced as I realized the horrifying truth: they were preparing to sacrifice my cat.

I snapped photos and called 911, my hands trembling. But I couldn’t wait—I burst in, pepper-sprayed their leader, and grabbed Max. As I escaped, the police arrived, arresting everyone, including Tom.

Tom pleaded for forgiveness, but I couldn’t look at him. This was more than betrayal—it was a nightmare. The police confirmed they found drugs, revealing a cult initiation.

I knew what I had to do. That night, I took my kids and left. Divorce would be the next step. But first, I needed to protect my family from the man I thought I knew.