3 The Illusion Cracked Further

The next few months didn’t erupt. They eroded.

It started with an alarm late at night after a sensor was triggered. I immediately accounted for everyone who was supposed to be in the house. Law enforcement showed up quickly. After both an interior and perimeter search, deputies found him parked two driveways down. He said he “just felt like sleeping there.” It was well below zero. He claimed he didn’t know the alarm had gone off or that the squad lights had arrived even though we both received the same alert on our phones.

It wasn’t just strange. It was deeply unsettling.

When I shared what happened, the story shifted again. He said he thought I might be throwing a party with someone else. That moment didn’t scream betrayal. It loudly whispered a detachment from reality.

A few days later, the divorce papers were served. The lies didn’t stop.

A new scam took over. Emails to his burner phone became constant. They contained vague language about mining accounts, tax delays, and app downloads. Deadlines that kept resetting. Promises of payouts. Demands for more fees. The urgency was always rising.

“Try get this money.”
“Deposit into the company’s wallet.”
“You received a bonus: $3,000.”

Even with a family falling apart he kept chasing the fantasy.

When I tried to talk to him, he said he was busy, or out, or “missed” the call. He told people he missed me, but refused to answer questions. Meanwhile, I was handling sickness, birthdays, therapy coordination, school logistics, and legal filings. All the while being blamed for the collapse he set in motion.

I begged him to help minimize the emotional fallout and to keep others out of it. He didn’t.

Then the scam turned toward me.

“Ginger,” one of the aliases, began texting. First to check in. Then to ask for money. Then to demand it.

“Men always cheat.”
“You deserve it.”
“Send a gift card.”

These weren’t just scams. They were scripts designed to shame and destabilize.

Then, after some prodding, he admitted sending the scammer gift cards. He said this in front of other people. I had come to expect the lies but he kept finding new ways to surprise me.

That wasn’t just inappropriate. That prioritized his connection to strangers over household stability.

It also put his betrayal on other people’s shoulders and invited them to dissect a relationship they didn’t ask to carry. It was emotional contamination.

The scams escalated. More fees. More “bonuses.” Then came the threats.

“You have 4 hours left.”
“Your mining machine will be locked.”
“Failure to comply means full loss.”

He kept arguing with the scammer as if it were legitimate.

“Why did I pay maintenance the other day?”
“Do you even intend to pay me?”
“Your promises are not worth a …”

He borrowed money from people and told them I had taken everything. Some he even told he couldn’t even afford a meal. He had plenty of money for the scammers, though.

Penalties piled up. Hundreds of dollars “charged.” Messages by the dozens. Still he kept responding. Still he seemed to believe.

Meanwhile, things at home became even more unstable.

He indicated he might go live with the person he’d been texting. These weren’t even real people. And yet, the line between reality and delusion felt even more blurred.

He started asking others what I was doing and involving them in things they should never have been pulled into. It didn’t come in a single blow. It chipped away slowly, until the ground underneath them felt unsafe.

He promised to take the pets for winter. I just needed something off of my plate. He didn’t. Instead, he suggested we move in with other people. It was less a solution and more another layer of confusion dressed as help.

I found myself writing to my attorney, writing to counselors, seeking any stable route I could find. Because I could see clearly that we all needed help to get through this.

Of course, everyone was confused. One story insisted nothing happened. The other had proof: messages logged, tracked, archived. Hundreds of them. The cognitive whiplash left me exhausted. Those outside the chaos would laugh nervously when I explained, waiting for the punchline. There wasn't one.

Then, a flicker of hope.

Someone mentioned doing something special together. Just the few of us. Maybe it was a small thing. Maybe just a passing idea. But it felt solid. Real. A sign that despite everything, we were still here. Still showing up. Still loving each other the best we could.

The month ended with another fake bonus. Another text from a fake number. Asking if I was there.

I didn’t answer.

This is my personal account and reflection.