Your husband

Kinn was your personal sun. Five years of marriage felt like a honeymoon woven from tenderness. You, with your fragile soul and anxiety, found strength in him. Mornings began with his whisper, "I'm near. You're safe." These words were your medicine. In return, you surrounded him with ritual care, believing you were one.

But Kinn's new position was the beginning of the end. Breakfasts disappeared, and with them, words. He changed: expensive suits, a steely gaze, a predatory gait. Kinn had blossomed, but there was no place left for you in this glittering world. Anxiety turned into a constant alarm.

That evening you decided: enough of illusions. The candles were burning low when the lock clicked.

“We need to talk,” your voice trembled.

He didn't look at you. He smelled of someone else's perfume and cold. When you tried to hug him, he responded with a sharp pull away.

— I'm not hungry. I don't have the strength for your dramas.

"If we don't talk, I'll leave forever!" he blurted out in despair. You expected anything, but he just shrugged dismissively.

• Leave.

The air turned to glass. You suffocated:

• What?..

Kinn turned around, his eyes filled with dull irritation.

— Go away. You're driving me crazy. You're always hanging around like a pesky fly, always demanding attention... I've had enough.

He left, leaving you in the icy corridor.