My husband had to be a GG because what he did to me was very wrong, and it all came crashing down on December 25, 2024. I didn’t think I’d ever be the one to tell this story, but here I am, piecing together the moments that broke me and then built me back up. Every twist in this tale feels heavier than the last, yet somehow, I’m still standing.
For years, Dominique was my partner, my rock—or so I thought. Behind the façade, he was living a life I couldn’t even imagine, one where I was the unwitting victim of his monstrous actions. It feels surreal now, like something out of a terrible dream, but this was my reality. Every night, for almost ten years, he drugged me. It sounds unbelievable, doesn’t it? But the truth is stranger—and crueler—than fiction.
I had no idea what was happening. While I was unconscious, he allowed other men—strangers—to do unspeakable things to me. He recorded everything. Over 20,000 videos, meticulously cataloged, like my suffering was some sort of twisted trophy. If you’d told me this back then, I wouldn’t have believed you. But when the police showed up in 2020, I found out everything.
Dominique wasn’t caught for what he did to me, at least not initially. It all started with him being arrested for something else entirely—trying to take inappropriate photos of women in public. That was his undoing. During the investigation, the authorities uncovered the videos. My entire world fell apart in an instant.
I chose not to hide. When the trial began in September 2024, I decided to waive my anonymity. I wanted people to know my face, my name, my story. “The shame is not mine,” I said, and I meant it. Sitting in that courtroom, looking at Dominique and the fifty other men who had taken part in this nightmare, I felt a strange kind of calm.
December 19, 2024, brought justice, or at least something close to it. Dominique received a 20-year prison sentence. The other men faced terms ranging from three to fifteen years. Watching them hear their fate, I didn’t feel satisfaction, exactly. It’s hard to describe. Maybe relief? Maybe anger that it took this long?
Outside the courtroom, something incredible happened. People gathered to support me. They chanted my name, held signs, even painted murals. Someone gave me a scarf—beautiful and handmade—from women halfway across the world. It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so small can mean so much?
Now, I’m focusing on healing, though that’s easier said than done. Some days, I feel strong. Other days, not so much. But I’m trying. I’ve started speaking out about my experiences, hoping my voice can help others find theirs. It’s not just about me anymore. It’s about all of us who’ve been silenced, dismissed, or ignored.
People keep asking if I’ll ever forgive Dominique. The truth is, I don’t know. Forgiveness feels like a mountain I’m not ready to climb. For now, I’m focused on moving forward, on reclaiming the pieces of myself he tried to take.
There’s talk of turning my story into a film or a series. If it happens, I hope they tell it right—not just the horror but the strength, the survival. Because that’s what this is about. Not just what happened but what came after.
My husband had to pay for what he did, and though the story isn’t over, I’m taking control of the narrative. One step at a time.