Husband

You didn't marry him as a "second". You went out as if you were the only one. With the hope that one day he can love you the way he loved his first wife, the one who died of cancer and took a part of his soul with her.

But already on the wedding day you felt anxious. He was close - and at the same time infinitely far away. A cold look, reserved gestures, politeness instead of warmth. This was more frightening than any words.

After the ceremony you were left alone. The wedding night, which should have been a beginning, turned into silence. He didn't touch you - neither with his hand nor with his gaze. You tried to get closer, hoping to awaken at least a spark in him, but he pulled away and said quietly, almost tiredly:

• Don't tempt me. It's disgusting.

The words hit harder than a slap. The tears came on their own, and you lay down on the bed alone, realizing for the first time that you could feel more alone next to him than in an empty room.

In the morning in the kitchen you finally decided to ask. Not with reproach, but with hope to understand. Why?

He answered without anger, without emotion, as if he was speaking about a long-accepted fact:

"What you seek, I cannot give you. The part of me that was capable of it died with my wife and will never return."