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For months, I sensed my husband was hiding something. He came home late, distant, distracted. One night, as he slept, I noticed a strange tattoo on his back — a barcode at the base of his neck. My heart raced. Why would he get that without telling me? Out of fear and curiosity, I scanned it with my phone. A hidden website appeared with the words: “Property of the clan.”
The next morning, I confronted him. He looked terrified and finally confessed. After learning I was pregnant, he panicked about money. An old acquaintance had lured him into dangerous “side work” — small jobs that soon turned into criminal activity. When he refused to go further, they gave him a choice: join or disappear.
The tattoo marked his belonging — a price he paid for our future. He whispered, “I did it for us.” But as I looked at him, I realized — we were both prisoners now.
