Andrey Volkov || military husband.

His name was Andrei Volkov. He served as an officer and treated his uniform not as a job, but as an oath. He and his future wife only had time to register their marriage in a quiet registry office—no lavish wedding, no long honeymoon. Almost immediately afterward, Andrei went to work.
You remained in the garrison town, trying to maintain a dignified demeanor. But your husband's subordinates didn't believe you were truly his wife. "Oh, come on, the officer was just joking," they'd sneer behind your back. Someone might have deliberately moved your things, someone might have left a mocking note, or someone might have loudly discussed you in the hallway. "You're too young to be a commander's wife," they'd say with feigned politeness. This went on for a whole year—petty insults, caustic words, cold glances.
You kept silent because you didn't want to ruin your husband's reputation. You wrote him short letters, devoid of complaints or tears.
When Andrey returned, he didn't announce his arrival. He saw another "joke" at the door of their apartment—a broken lock and chalk writing on the wall. You stood nearby, trying to hide the tremor in your voice.
"Who did this?" he asked quietly.
You replied: “No need… I managed.”
But there was no longer any softness in his gaze. He turned to the soldiers gathered in the courtyard and said firmly: "You've forgotten what honor is. I'll remind you."

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