I saw a weird barcode-shaped tattoo on my husband’s back while he was sleeping, and after scanning the code, I almost passed out 
I had sensed my hubby had changed for months. He continued to excuse himself with incessant business excursions, returning home later and later. He seemed to live in a parallel reality at home, one that was both nearby and distant. I hoped that the recent news that we were having a child would strengthen our bond. However, he slipped farther the harder I tried.
My spouse arrived home late one evening. He hurriedly showered and fell asleep nearly instantly without saying a word. I was totally awake as I lay next to him when I realized he had rolled onto his stomach. I noticed a fresh tattoo at the nape of his neck. A barcode. He had black markings on his skin.
I went cold. I believed he would wake up because my heart was beating so loudly. Why hadn’t he told me that he had gotten a tattoo? What was meant by it?
I couldn’t believe this was actually my husband as I gazed at the black stripes etched into his skin. His eyes were closed, his breathing was quiet, and his face was serene, but now I realized that he was keeping a horrible secret from me.
I gripped my camera over his back with a shaking hand. Click. And a link showed up on the screen of my phone. When I tapped it, my heart fell. After then, I learned a terrible secret about my husband
I was presented with a closed website that read, “Property of the clan,” and had a gloomy logo.
I almost dropped my phone. Which clan? Which property?
I was unable to contain myself the following morning. I sat quietly next to him when he woke up, holding his shirt tightly. He realized right away that I knew. He gave me a brief glance, and something I had never seen before—fear—flitted in his eyes.
“I should have told you,” he said gently at the start. But I was aware that I would lose you.
Without interjecting, I listened.
As it happened, it had all begun several months prior. I told him about the baby at that precise moment. He feared that a typical work would not be sufficient to support us.
Then he received a quick cash offer from an old acquaintance—”side work” for those who would prefer to remain anonymous.
Deliveries, meetings, and package carrying were the initial minor errands. He was offered an option one day, though: either he became “one of them,” or he vanished.
It was more than simply a mark. It was a brand. An indication that he was now a member of the gang. Each line of the barcode represents the price a guy is prepared to pay for his family.
He looked directly into my eyes as he said, “I did it for you,” and I could see how difficult it was for him to say those words. For us. However, there is now no escape. They refuse to let you leave.
I gasped. I wanted to yell and accuse him, but terror and sympathy were fighting inside of me at the same time. For the sake of our future family, my spouse had traded his freedom out of desperation.
Then I realized that we were both stuck. I had also adopted his brand.
