Aaron Phypers sat in the dimly lit corner of his office, his hands trembling as he held his phone. His thoughts swirled like a storm, every word he typed feeling like a weight that threatened to crush him. This letter, this desperate cry for help, was the hardest thing he had ever written. He stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity, trying to gather the strength to send it. But there was no turning back now. He had already made the decision—he had to speak out, and he had to do it now.

The message was meant for Denise Richards’ family and closest friends, a private plea for intervention, a call for support in a time when everything he loved seemed to be slipping through his fingers. He had been without his phone since the 4th of July, and now that he had regained access, the chaos he had been cut off from hit him with full force. It wasn’t just his world that was crashing down—his whole family was caught in the wake of the disaster, too.

“This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write,” Aaron’s fingers tapped the keys as he composed his thoughts. He had no other choice but to be brutally honest, even if it meant risking everything. “I just got some of my contacts back, after being without my cell phone since the 4th of July,” he wrote. He paused before continuing. The words weren’t easy, but they had to be said.

“I’m reaching out today not in anger, but in heartbreak—as a man, a husband, a son, a brother, and a father who has spent years loving, supporting, and protecting his family,” the letter went on. “I love my wife more than words can ever fully express. That has never changed. But the recent public accusations made against me are not only false—they are devastating.”

Aaron pressed the send button. His heart raced, and his stomach churned with a bitter cocktail of anger and sorrow. He had never imagined that his life would spiral into something like this. He had been through countless trials in his life, but nothing compared to the destruction of his marriage. Denise, his wife, the woman he had once adored, now saw him as her enemy. Her accusations, laid out in court documents, were cruel and relentless.

“I have never, ever physically harmed my wife,” he had written. “I did not give her a black eye. I have only ever stepped in to protect her or others—always coming from a place of care and concern.” The words were true. He could still remember the countless times he had shielded Denise, had stepped between her and danger, whether it was from her own outbursts or from the world’s harsh judgment. Yet, somehow, she had turned on him. She had accused him of being the abuser, twisting everything he had done into something monstrous.

Her allegations were horrendous. “Aaron would frequently violently choke me,” Denise had claimed. “Violently squeeze my head with both hands, tightly squeeze my arms, violently slap me in my face and head. Aggressively slam my head into the bathroom towel rack. Threaten to kill me. Hold me down with his knee on my back to the point where I would have to plead with him to get off me so that he would not kill me.” These were the words she had used to paint a picture of him as a monster, a man who could destroy the life of the woman he had once pledged to protect.

The letter went on, addressing the ripple effects her accusations had caused. It wasn’t just his reputation that was being torn apart. It was his family. “My elderly parents, aged 83 and 84, and my brother—who have devoted themselves to caring for our daughter Eloise and Denise’s animals—are now being targeted and publicly shamed,” Aaron wrote. “They live in unbearable conditions: no hot water, no gas, no air conditioning in 100+ degree heat, and no financial support to buy basic supplies. Yet they continue to serve with love and loyalty.”

It wasn’t just the immediate damage to his family that tore him apart. It was the betrayal. Denise had promised him that their relationship could withstand anything. But now, it seemed everything had been shattered beyond repair. Aaron had confronted her about an affair earlier in the year. She had begged him not to leave, saying it was nothing, that she only loved him. She had denied it all, even when he found explicit messages, irrefutable evidence of her lies. Despite her promises to stop, more shocking discoveries emerged, each one deeper and more painful than the last.

“Aaron regularly threatened to ‘break my jaw,’” Denise had written in her court filings. But these threats, Aaron knew, were nothing more than the distortion of truth. He had never been violent, not in the way she portrayed him. He had been a protector, a man who had tried to hold it all together as Denise spiraled into a place he couldn’t follow.

“Then, she denied it all,” he wrote. “Despite her promise to stop, more lies and shocking evidence emerged.”

But even as he typed these words, Aaron knew that no one would believe him. How could they? In a world that loved a good scandal, the truth had a tendency to get lost in the noise. The accusations were loud, and they rang with the kind of detail that made it hard to see beyond them. But Aaron was desperate for someone to see beyond the lies, to recognize the man he was and the love he still felt for Denise, despite everything that had happened.

This wasn’t just a divorce. It wasn’t just a relationship breaking down. It was a cry for help—a desperate plea for someone to intervene, to stop the downward spiral before it consumed them all.

As the sun set that evening, Aaron sat back in his chair, his hands shaking. He had sent the letter. It was out of his hands now. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was still yet to come. The story was far from over, and in the world they lived in, no one knew who would come out on top. But one thing was certain: everything was about to change, and the truth would eventually come to light—no matter how dark or twisted it had become.