Reddit Stories - My spouse quietly INVESTIGATED ways to PERSUADE me to undergo cosmetic surgery FOLLOWING...

Episode Date: December 10, 2025

Summary: My spouse conducted a discreet investigation to find ways to persuade me to undergo. This unexpected behavior raised concerns about their intentions and our relationship dynamics, leading to a deeper discussion about self-image, personal choices, and the impact of societal standards on our perceptions of beauty.

I hope you enjoy this story. My spouse quietly investigated ways to persuade me to undergo cosmetic surgery following childbirth, then disparaged my appearance when I addressed the issue, and I discovered he had scheduled. A mommy makeover appointment behind my back, so I left him. I had borrowed my husband's laptop, but I never imagined it would completely unravel the life I thought we were building together. It wasn't even a big deal, or so I thought at the time. My laptop was acting up, and I had a tight deadline to submit a report for work.

I didn't think twice before grabbing his laptop from the desk. He wasn't home, he had gone out for groceries, leaving his laptop wide open. At first, everything was fine. I logged in and opened the browser to get started. That's when it caught my eye. The search bar had a suggestion one of those auto-filled phrases. I would have ignored it if the phrase hadn't made me. my stomach drop. It read, How to Convince Your Wife to Get Plastic Surgery. My heart sank,

and my hands froze. For a second, I thought maybe it was some spam or a prank, but curiosity and dread got the better of me. I clicked into his history. What I found made me feel sick. Page after page of articles, forums, and videos were all centered around plastic surgery for post-pregnancy bodies. Liposuction, tummy tucks, breast lifts, you name it, he'd searched it. Some were even bookmarked. I couldn't breathe. I had just given birth six months ago to our daughter.

My body wasn't the same, sure, but I thought we were past the superficial nonsense. I carried his child. I endured swollen ankles, sleepless nights, and an emergency C-section that left me with a scar I was still learning to accept. and this is what he was doing. Plotting ways to fix me? I closed a laptop and sat there in stunned silence. My mind raced through a whirlwind of emotions shock, anger, sadness, humiliation. I started questioning everything. Had he been pretending to be supportive all along? Did he even love me, or was I just some project to mold into his ideal version of a wife? By the time he came home, I was ready to confront him.

As soon as he walked in with the groceries, I asked him to sit down. He looked confused, but he sat, probably sensing that something was off. I didn't hold back. I told him I'd used his laptop, saw the search history,

and asked him to explain himself. He had the audacity to act defensively. He told me I was snooping and invading his privacy. That's when I lost it. I told him I didn't care about his privacy. when he was essentially plotting how to insult and degrade me behind my back. He quickly shifted gears, trying to explain himself. He said he wasn't trying to hurt me and that he'd done all of that research for me. For me? I repeated, stunned by his nerve. He claimed he was trying

to help me regain my confidence. He said he noticed how I'd been feeling down about my body lately and thought that maybe surgery could be a solution. He painted himself as a thoughtful husband who just wanted to see me happy. But his tone betrayed him. There was no genuine concern in his voice just frustration that I'd found out before he could execute whatever ridiculous plan he'd cooked up. I told him that nothing about what he did was for me. If he cared about my confidence, he would have been uplifting and supportive, not searching for ways to fix me. I reminded him that I was still recovering, both physically. physically and emotionally, from childbirth. I asked him if he had any idea what it felt like

to look in the mirror and see a body you barely recognized but still loved because it created a life. Did he even see me anymore, or was he just looking at my stretch marks and C-section scar? He doubled down, saying that I was blowing everything out of proportion. He accused me of being too sensitive and insecure. He even went so far as to say that plastic surgery wasn't a bad thing and that plenty of women do it. That's their choice, I snapped, not something their husbands manipulate them into. The argument spiraled from there. He started pointing out things he'd noticed about my body some things I hadn't even thought about until he said them. He mentioned how my stomach hadn't gone back to being flat, how my breasts weren't as perky as

before, and how I didn't dress up as much anymore. Every word was like a dagger to my self-esteem. I told him he had no right to criticize my body, especially not after what I went through to bring our child into this world. I asked him if he expected me to look like some airbrushed model two minutes after giving birth. He didn't have a good answer for that, but his silence said enough. The fight ended with me leaving the room and slamming the door. I couldn't stand to look at him. I spent the rest of the night lying in bed, replaying the argument in my head. I cried, but mostly, I was just furious. How dare he make me feel like I wasn't good enough.

As I lay there, I started connecting the dots. This wasn't the first time he'd made me feel inadequate. I thought back to the little comments he'd made over the past few months things I'd brushed off at the time. He'd joke about how we should get a gym membership or how he missed the way I used to dress before the baby. At the time, I thought he was just being playful or nostalgic. Now, I realized he'd been planting seeds all along, hoping I'd take the hint and change myself.

By the next morning, I knew one thing for sure, I couldn't stay in a marriage where I wasn't valued for who I was. I deserved a partner who loved me unconditionally, not someone who saw me and my body as a problem to solve. That day, I started making plans. I didn't know what the future looked like, but I knew it didn't include a man who thought my worth was tied to my waistline. Update 1, the morning after the fight, I woke up with a clearer head but a heavier heart. The house was quiet except for the faint coos of our baby in her crib. My husband had already left for work, leaving a note on the kitchen counter. It was the most generic apology I'd ever seen.

He said he was sorry if I misunderstood his intentions and that he didn't mean to upset me. It was the kind of non-apology that only made things worse. I sat at the table with the note in one hand and my coffee in the other, staring blankly at the words, misunderstood his intentions. How could I possibly misunderstand weeks of secret searches about how to change me? The problem wasn't my misunderstanding, it was his blatant disregard for who I was as a person and a partner and what I had gone through. Giving birth had been extremely difficult for me. The betrayal cut deeper than I thought it would. This wasn't just about the search history or his harsh comments during the argument. It was about

trust. I'd married this man because I believed he saw me for who I truly was, flaws, and all. But now I felt like I'd been reduced to a checklist of physical features that didn't meet his standards anymore. It felt humiliating. As I fed our daughter her breakfast, my mind raced with what to do next. The way he'd gaslight me during the argument stuck with me. He'd made it seem like I was the unreasonable one, that I was overreacting to what he called a simple idea to help. But I wasn't the one who was wrong here, and I wasn't going to let him convince me otherwise. By the time he got home that evening, I'd made up my mind to confront him again. If he thought he could sweep this under the rug with a half-hearted note and no real accountability,

he was sorely mistaken. When he walked through the door, I told him we needed to talk. His face immediately tensed up, but he nodded and followed me into the living room. I didn't give him time to settle in before I laid it all out. I told him that his actions weren't just hurtful, they were humiliating. I reminded him that marriage was supposed to be a partnership built on love, respect, and trust. I demanded to know if he even realized the depth of the damage he'd caused. His response was infuriating. He doubled down on his good intentions, saying he'd only been looking into surgery options

because he thought it might make me happier. He even had the nerve to say he was trying to take initiative as a husband. take initiative i asked my voice dripping with disbelief by going behind my back and plotting ways to change me without my consent that's not initiative that's manipulation he started to say something but i cut him off i told him that if he genuinely cared about my happiness he would have come to me and talked about my feelings instead of deciding for me that surgery was the solution i also reminded him that i'd just given birth six months ago and was still adjusting to motherhood The last thing I needed was to feel like I was failing as a wife too.

When he tried to interrupt again, I told him to save it. I wasn't interested in his excuses. I told him I needed more than just empty apologies and surface-level remorse. I needed to see if he actually meant his apology or I needed to start thinking about what my life would look like without him in it. The word seemed to hit him harder than anything else I'd said. For the first time, he looked genuinely panicked. He asked if I was threatening to leave him.

I told him it wasn't a threat, it was a reality check. If he couldn't understand why his actions were so damaging, then maybe we weren't as compatible as I thought. He finally admitted that he'd handled things poorly and said he wanted to make it right. But when I asked him how he planned to do that, he didn't have an answer. He just kept saying he was sorry and that he didn't want to lose me. I told him that words weren't enough. If he was serious about fixing this, he needed to prove it.

I wasn't going to stick around and be treated like a build-a-body project. That night, after he went to bed, I stayed up thinking about what I needed to do for myself. I couldn't just wait around for him to magically change. I had to take control of my own happiness, with or without him. The next day, I made an appointment with a therapist. I needed someone to talk to who could help me navigate my feelings and figure out what was best for me and my daughter. I didn't tell my husband about it right away. I wanted to work through things on my own before deciding what to share with him. Over the next few days,

I started to focus more on myself. I set aside time to exercise, not because I wanted to fit some ideal image but because it made me feel good. I started journaling again, something I hadn't done in years. And most importantly, I spent as much quality time with my daughter as possible. My husband noticed the changes and tried to act supportive, but there was still a distance between us. I could tell he was walking on eggshells, unsure of how to approach me. Part of me appreciated the effort, but another part of me couldn't shake the resentment I felt. One evening, he brought up the idea of couples therapy. He said he thought it might help us communicate better and work through our issues. I agreed to give it a try, but I made it clear that this was his last chance to show

me he was willing to do the work. He admitted that he'd been selfish and that his insecurities about our relationship had led him to make terrible choices. While it was a step in the right direction, I wasn't ready to forgive him just yet. I told him that rebuilding trust would take time and consistent effort. I also made it clear that I wasn't going to compromise my self-worth for the sake of our marriage. If he couldn't accept me for who I was, flaws and all, then there was no future for us. Update 2. Things between my husband and me were fragile at best.

The therapy sessions continued, but progress was slow. While he was making some efforts to rebuild trust, I still felt like there was a part of him that didn't truly grasp the damage he had caused. One evening, after putting our daughter to bed, I decided to take a moment to myself. I settled onto the couch with a cup of tea, trying to enjoy the quiet. it. My husband had just stepped into the shower, leaving his phone on the counter. Normally, I wouldn't even think about touching it, but when it buzzed repeatedly with an incoming

call, I instinctively picked it up. The caller ID showed a name I didn't recognize. I answered. The cheerful voice on the other end introduced themselves as a representative from a cosmetic surgery clinic. They were calling to confirm an appointment scheduled for the following week. I froze, asking the person to repeat that information. The receptionist patiently explained again, adding that the appointment had been booked a week ago for a mommy makeover package. My stomach churned as I thanked them and ended the call. The timeline hit me like a ton of bricks.

A week ago. That was after our first therapy session after he had supposedly understood the harm he had done and promised to change. The sound of the shower turning off jolted me back to reality. A few minutes later, my husband walked into the living room, towel slung over his shoulder. He looked at me and then at his phone in my hand, his face instantly clouding with concern. He asked who it was, his tone guarded. I stayed seated, staring at him, trying to keep my composure as I explained what had just

happened. I told him that it was a cosmetic surgery clinic, calling to confirm an appointment he had booked. His eyes widened in surprise, and his lips moved as though to speak. but no words came out. I pressed him, asking when he had planned to tell me about it or if he had intended to spring it on me as some kind of twisted surprise. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, finally admitting that he had been planning to tell me, he said he had thought maybe if I gave it a chance, would see how much it could help. Help me? Or help him feel better about looking at me? The words came out of me sharper than I intended, but I couldn't hold

them back. He immediately got defensive, saying that it wasn't like that. He claimed he only wanted to do something nice for me and thought that if I saw the possibilities, I would feel more confident. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Nice? I shot back at him that booking a surgery consultation behind my back wasn't nice. It was manipulative and invasive. How many times did I have to tell him that this wasn't about me being insecure but about him projecting his issues onto me. He stumbled over his words, trying to justify his actions, but I wasn't interested in hearing his excuses. The Trust One had been tentatively rebuilding was completely shattered. My voice trembled as I told him I couldn't do this right now, that I needed space to think.

He asked me what I meant by that, a note of panic creeping into his voice. I told him, firmly and without hesitation, that I was taking the baby and going to stay with a friend for a while. His face fell as he begged me not to leave, insisting that we were supposed to be working on things together. I snapped that working on it didn't mean sabotaging it from the start. I yelled at him that he didn't get to make decisions about my body without my consent and then expect me to trust him. He pleaded with me to reconsider, following me as I grabbed a bag and started packing essentials for me and our daughter. His words faded into the background as I focused on what I needed to do. He tried to touch me, but I shoved him back.

By the time I had everything ready, he was calling his mother. I drove to my friend Myra's house, my heart pounding the entire way. When I arrived, she greeted me with open arms, taking one look at my tear-streaked face and knowing something was wrong. I told her I needed a place to stay for a while. Without hesitation, she assured me that I was welcome to stay as long as I needed. She didn't press me for details, instead helped me. helping me settle in and making sure the baby and I were comfortable.

Later that night, after putting my daughter to sleep, I finally broke down and told Myra everything. As I recounted the events, her expression shifted from disbelief to anger. She couldn't believe he had booked a surgery consultation behind my back. She said it was low, even for him. I nodded, wiping away tears, and told her I just didn't understand how he could claim to love me and then do something like this. I said it felt like he cared more about how I looked than who I was. Mara put a comforting hand on my shoulder and told me I didn't deserve this. She said I had been through so much already and the last thing I needed was someone making me

feel like I wasn't enough. Her words brought me a sense of comfort but also made me realize how far I'd let things go. I had been so focused on trying to salvage our marriage that I hadn't stopped to consider whether it was even worth saving. Over the next few days, I started to reevaluate my priorities. I focused on spending quality time with my daughter and reconnecting with myself. Myra's support was invaluable, and having a safe space to process my emotions made all the difference. My husband tried calling and texting me multiple times, but I didn't respond. I needed time to figure out what I wanted, and I wasn't going to let him pressure me into making a decision. Eventually, I knew I'd have to confront him and decide the future of our relationship.

But for now, I was taking things one day at a time, putting my own needs and my daughter's well-being first. Update 3. The days at Myra's house were peaceful but emotionally taxing. I kept to myself, focusing on my daughter and trying to find moments of clarity amid the storm. I kept working from home. Every time my phone buzzed, I felt a pang of anxiety. of the calls were from my husband, but now, his family had joined in. I ignored every single one. His parents had always been passive, the type to quietly agree with whatever their son said or did. Their silence during his blatant disrespect toward me spoke volumes, and I had no intention of entertaining them now. I wasn't in the mood for their excuses or half-hearted

attempts to smooth things over. When my phone lit up with my mother's name, I hesitated. The thought of her voice brought a lump to my throat. She'd always been my go to for comfort, but her recent insistence that I tried to make things work with my husband had driven a wedge between us. I couldn't bear to hear her tell me once again that I needed to forgive him or that I was overreacting. She even brought my baby into this. It wasn't like I didn't earn or wasn't capable of raising my own child. I let the call go to voicemail. But my father? That was a different story. When his name flashed on the screen, I froze. He rarely called me, and the fact that he was doing so now sent a ripple of unease through me. For a while, I let it ring,

unsure if I could handle another conversation where I had to defend my decisions. But he was relentless. After the fifth call in a row, I sighed heavily and finally answered. Before I could even greet him, his voice came through, filled with concern and urgency. He said he He'd been trying to reach me for days and asked why I hadn't called him back. His tone softened as he said my mother had told him I wasn't at home, and he needed to know where I was. Hearing his worry broke something in me. I told him I was safe and staying with Myra, but I couldn't stop the tears from spilling as I explained everything. I told him about the discovery on my husband's laptop, the therapy sessions that felt like a sham, and the clinic call that confirmed he hadn't

changed at all. My father listened in silence, but I could hear his breathing grow heavier, his anger simmering beneath the surface. When I told him about my husband booking the surgery consultation behind my back, I could almost feel the explosion coming through the phone. He said he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His voice shook with fury as he demanded to know what kind of man would do this to his wife, especially after everything she had gone through to bring their child into the world. He asked how long I had been putting up with this and why I hadn't called him sooner. I told him I had tried to handle it myself, thinking I could fix it, but now I wasn't so sure. I admitted that I didn't know what to do next, and I was scared. I told him that

mom just kept trying to tell me to work it out. That was when his tone shifted, becoming firm and resolute. He said he was coming to get me. No arguments, no delays he was getting in his car and driving straight to Myra's house to bring me and his grandchild back home. He said I didn't have to deal with this alone anymore and that my husband would have to answer to him. I tried to protest, saying I didn't want to cause a scene or make things worse, but he wouldn't hear it. He said no man had the right to treat his daughter like this, and he wasn't going to sit back and watch me suffer. He asked if I was sure I was okay to wait until he arrived, and I assured him that Myra and I had everything under control. He told me to pack my things and be ready, and then he

hung up. It would take him around two hours to reach here. My father's anger was like a storm waiting to erupt, and I wasn't sure what would happen when he confronted my husband. But knowing I had his support gave me a sense of comfort I hadn't realized I needed. When I told Myra what had happened, she nodded in approval. She said it was about time someone held my husband accountable for his actions and that my father seemed like the perfect person to do it. I packed my bags once again, this time with a lighter heart. I had spent so long feeling isolated and unsure of my choices. But now, with my father stepping in, I felt like I had a lifeline.

I really wanted my parents to support me. The baby was restless, sensing the tension in the air, but I held her close and whispered that everything would be okay. I didn't know what the future held, but I was determined to build a better life for her and myself, no matter what it took. When my father arrived, he was a force to be reckoned with. He didn't waste time with pleasantries, immediately checking on me and the baby to make sure we were okay.

His eyes softened when he saw his granddaughter, but the anger returned quickly when he turned his attention to me. He asked me one last time if I was sure about this, and I nodded firmly. I told him I had made up my mind L wasn't going back to my husband. He nodded, his expression grim but determined. He said that was all he needed to know. As we loaded my things into his car, I couldn't help. but feel a pang of guilt. I knew this wasn't going to be easy, and part of me worried about

what my husband would do when he realized I wasn't coming back. But the stronger part of me knew this was the right choice. As we drove away, my father reassured me that I had made the right decision. He said I deserved so much better than what my husband had given me and that he would do whatever it took to support me through this. In what felt like forever, I felt like I could breathe. The road ahead was uncertain, but with my father by my side and my daughter in my arms, I knew I had the strength to face whatever came next. Update 4. Filing for divorce felt like a heartbreak. Walking into the lawyer's office felt like admitting defeat. I had reached the limit of what I could endure. My lawyer was understanding and professional, guiding me through the

process and assuring me that my husband's behavior would strengthen my case. My mother, however, very differently when she finally heard the full story. She had pieced together bits of it through my father and other relatives, but when I sat her down and explained everything the laptop search history, the therapy sessions that had gone nowhere, the secret surgery consultation she was furious. She asked me how I had managed to stay as calm as I did and why I hadn't come to her sooner. I told her I hadn't wanted to hear her tell me to try harder or to make at work. She shook her head, saying that while she might have hoped for reconciliation before, there was no way she could ever forgive him for what he had done now that she knew the full

extent of his actions. Within moments, she was on the phone with him. Her voice was sharp and cutting as she unleashed her fury. She told him that she couldn't believe she had trusted him with her daughter, that she had handed me over to someone she thought would cherish me but who instead had made me feel like I wasn't enough. She called him a disgrace of a husband and a cow of a man. When he tried to interrupt, she cut him off, telling him he had no right to speak after what he had done. She said she didn't want to hear his excuses or his twisted justifications. She told him that no decent man would ever treat the mother of his child the way he had treated me. But she wasn't done. She called his parents next. I could hear

her side of the conversation as she let loose on my in-laws. She questioned how they had raised him, saying they must have failed somewhere along the way if this was the kind of man he had become. She accused them of enabling his behavior and turning a blind eye to his actions. My mother's voice grew louder as she recounted everything he had done, from pressuring me to get surgery to booking a secret consultation behind my back. She said she didn't care what excuses they had there was no justification for his actions. She told them they should be ashamed of themselves for raising a son who thought it was acceptable to treat his wife like this.

After she hung up, she turned to me and said that she would stand by me every step of the way. I could see the guilt in her eyes as if she was blaming herself for encouraging me to try harder in the past. I told her it wasn't her fault. Both of us were crying. The final conversation with my husband came sooner than I expected. He showed up at my parents' house one afternoon, looking worn and desperate. My father intercepted him at the door, refusing to be.

to let him in until I agreed to speak to him. After a moment's hesitation, I stepped outside, knowing this was a conversation I needed to have to truly move forward. He started by saying he was sorry, but his apology felt hollow. He said he hadn't meant to hurt me, that he thought the surgery would make me happy, that he had only been trying to help. I told him that he didn't get to rewrite the narrative. He had humiliated me, made me feel worthless, and tried to manipulate me into changing myself for his benefit. I told him that if he had truly cared about my happiness, he would have supported me as I was, not tried to mold me into some idealized version of a life. He tried to say that he had made mistakes but that he still loved me and wanted to fix things.

I told him it was too late. I asked if he thought the wound inside my body was a joke. I said that love wasn't about control or coercion. It wasn't about putting your partner down to lift yourself up. Love was about acceptance, support, respect, things he had failed to provide. His tone shifted then, becoming defensive. He asked if I was really going to throw away our marriage over this and if I wasn't being overly dramatic. He said I was tearing apart our family. I told him that he had torn it apart the moment he decided I wasn't good enough for him. I told him that I deserved better than what he had given me, and so did our daughter. I said I wouldn't raise her in an environment where she might grow up thinking it was okay to be treated

the way he had treated me. His expression hardened, and he said he didn't think I was being fair. I told him that fairness went out the window the moment he decided to book a surgery consultation behind my back. I told him that I wasn't interested in his justifications or excuses. The only thing I cared about now was moving forward and building a better life for myself and our daughter. I asked him if he would approve of a man like himself to be with our daughter. He was enraged. I ended the conversation by telling him I didn't want to hear from him unless it was about our daughter and the only excess weight I could be getting rid of was him.

I walked back into the house. My father was still standing by the doorway. The divorce papers were filed, the truth was out, and I had said everything I needed to say. I deserved way better. If I ever decide to get into a relationship again, would choose a man who'd worship me not some punk like my soon-to-be ex.