At night, I noticed my husband was in the room with our one-month-old baby, even though he had just left the house: I walked into the nursery and saw something scary…

At night, I noticed my husband was in the room with our one-month-old baby, even though he had just left the house: I walked into the nursery and saw something scary…

My husband and I had recently become parents. Our firstborn turned our lives upside down. The first few weeks felt like something out of a movie—exhausting, yet joyful. I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband and the tenderness with which he held our son. He seemed like the perfect father.

But something started to change. At first, it was small things—he started coming home late, getting irritable, and giving short answers. Every night, as soon as Artyom fell asleep, he’d ask for “an hour to himself.” He’d lock himself in his office or leave without explaining where he was going.

It hurt. I thought maybe he was just tired, or maybe he had postpartum depression—dads go through a lot too. I gave him space. But everything changed yesterday.

Our son woke up crying in the middle of the night. I was about to go into the room when I instinctively glanced at the baby monitor. The camera showed that he had simply dropped his pacifier and was already calming down. But suddenly… I noticed movement in the corner of the screen.

I froze. My husband was in the frame. He was standing in the shadows, motionless, staring at the crib. But… he had just left the house. I heard   the   front door close!

I gasped. I jumped up and ran to the children’s room. What I saw there horrified me.  See the continuation in the first comment.

There was no one in the room but our son. No husband, no sound. A few minutes later, he returned from the market—holding a shopping bag, calm, as if nothing had happened.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I showed him the camera footage. He turned pale. He sank to the floor and whispered,

— I thought it wouldn’t happen again…

He told me that as a teenager, he was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder. As the years passed, the symptoms almost disappeared, and he thought the illness was gone forever.

But with the birth of our son, another personality “awakened” within him. He had no memory of what happened when it took over. And that part of him… hated babies. An inexplicable and dangerous hatred.

He cried. He said he began noticing time lapses, strange dreams, objects he didn’t remember touching. He thought he was going crazy.

He asked for forgiveness. He begged me not to be afraid. He promised to see a doctor, to be admitted to a clinic. And I… I wanted to believe him.

But that night, while he slept on the couch, I checked his phone. There was a voicemail, recorded on the voice memo app—one he probably hadn’t even heard. A male voice—strange, monotonous, angry—whispered:

— Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll get rid of him.

I couldn’t risk it anymore. In the morning, he woke up to an empty apartment. I had taken our son and gone to my parents’ house.

We now live in another city. My husband is undergoing treatment. We only communicate through lawyers. I don’t know who he was at that moment—a father or a monster. But from now on, I trust only myself.