My name is Janet, and my husband, Mark, is a psychology professor at the local university. We’ve been happily married for ten years. Mark has always been brilliant but occasionally forgetful, often leaving his lunch at home. This morning was no different.

“Mark, you forgot your lunch again,” I said, holding up the brown paper bag with a sigh.

“Sorry, honey,” he mumbled, his eyes glued to his notes.

Since I had the day off, I decided to deliver his lunch to him. It was meant to be a simple, loving gesture, but I never anticipated what was about to unfold.

The university campus was bustling with students, each hurrying to their next class. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the grounds. I walked through the familiar pathways, clutching Mark’s lunch, feeling a mix of nostalgia and excitement as I made my way to his lecture hall.

Upon reaching the large auditorium, I peeked inside and saw Mark already engrossed in his lecture. Deciding to surprise him, I quietly took a seat at the back, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in his professional environment. The room was filled with students, all attentively focused on Mark, who was speaking animatedly about psychological experiments.

“To illustrate the concept,” Mark said, “I recreated an experiment using my wife as the subject.”

My heart skipped a beat. What did he just say?

“Our subject, Janet, has an average IQ and the social awareness of a teenage girl. Testing this theory on her was not particularly difficult. Now, take a look at this video, and we’ll discuss it afterward.”

The screen flickered to life, and my face appeared, accompanied by some harsh and unflattering descriptors. I sat frozen, my mind racing as I tried to process what I was seeing. My own husband had used me as a subject in his experiment without my knowledge or consent.

The video showed me recounting a fabricated childhood memory of getting lost in a mall—a memory that never actually happened. My blood ran cold as I realized Mark had been subtly implanting this false memory into my mind for weeks through our conversations and text messages.

A surge of anger, betrayal, and humiliation overwhelmed me. How could he do this? How could he expose me in such a demeaning manner in front of his students?

As the video concluded, the students began to ask questions. Unable to contain my fury, I raised my hand, my voice trembling with emotion.

“What if your wife were to find out about you experimenting on her? How do you think that would go for you?” I asked, my voice louder than intended.

The students turned to look, and Mark’s confident demeanor faltered. He recognized my voice and saw me sitting at the back. His face turned ashen.

“Janet, I—” he began, but I interrupted him.

“I would say that she would understand that I love her and that whatever I did was for science and educational purposes. So she should be honored to be part of this significant experiment,” Mark stammered, desperately trying to salvage the situation.

“Honored?” I said, my voice rising with disbelief. “You’ve humiliated me, violated my trust, and used our relationship for your experiment. How could you possibly think any of this is honorable?”

Mark looked distressed. He explained, “The experiment was about false memory implantation, a psychological phenomenon where suggestive information creates memories that never happened. I subtly suggested a fictional event to Janet, integrating these suggestions into our conversations and text messages to make the memory seem real.”

He pointed at the screen. “The video demonstrates how easily memories can be altered. It’s a significant finding in understanding human psychology.”

I glared at him, feeling a mix of betrayal and anger. “So, you tricked me into believing something that never happened? For what, a class experiment? How is this justified?”

Mark replied, “It’s a crucial scientific discovery. I didn’t realize it would affect you so deeply. I thought you’d appreciate the importance of the research.”

“Appreciate?” I shot back, my voice breaking. “You used me without my consent. You made me question my own memories. How could you do that to someone you claim to love?”

The students were silent, their eyes darting between Mark and me. Some looked uncomfortable, while others appeared intrigued. Mark struggled to maintain control over the situation.

“Janet, I’m truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you,” Mark said, his voice pleading.

“You didn’t mean to hurt me?” I echoed, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You filmed me, manipulated my memories, and showcased it to your class. That’s not just hurtful—it’s a betrayal.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped. “I thought you would see the broader significance.”

“The broader significance?” I shouted. “The broader significance is that you violated our trust. You never considered how this would impact our relationship.”

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I continued, “You need to ask yourself what kind of person would do this to their spouse. Because right now, I don’t recognize the man I married.”

The room was deathly silent. Mark looked like he wanted to disappear. I could no longer bear to be there.

I turned and walked out of the auditorium, my heart pounding with the weight of betrayal. The curious gazes of students were irrelevant to me. The hurt was too profound.

Outside, I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The betrayal was not just in the public humiliation but in the deep breach of trust. Could our marriage survive this? Did I even want it to?