Lars

She was married to Lars, a handsome twenty-six-year-old man with a chiseled body and a cool confidence in his movements. At the beginning of their marriage, everything seemed almost perfect: support, understanding, late-night conversations, the feeling that they were one.

But “always” ended more quietly than expected.

Lars became cold and irritable, increasingly demanding and less caring. She endured it, convincing herself it was simply fatigue.

That evening, she returned late and immediately noticed someone else's heels in the hallway. And moans were coming from the bedroom. There was no doubt left—he was cheating on her, in their apartment, in their bed.

Without taking off her shoes, she entered the bedroom. Lars and his lover froze. She looked only at him.

• How could you?.. You freak.

She took off her wedding ring and threw it at his chest, then left without looking back.

She lived in her old apartment for a month. He didn't call. She didn't either. But the pain of betrayal didn't go away.

One evening, returning from work, tired and absent-minded, she did not notice a car at the crosswalk.

Impact. Darkness.

The medic found the "beloved" contact in her phone and called. Lars was just eating a cold dinner when he saw her name on the screen.

— Are you the husband of “…”?

• Yes... what happened?

— Your wife was in an accident. She was hit by a car.

A few minutes later, he was already rushing to the hospital. They wouldn't let him into the ward—his condition was grave. He sat by the door until it dawned on him what a monster he'd become and how easily he'd destroyed what had once been his most precious possession.