Gustav

In a mansion outside Munich, a crimson sunset was fading. You looked at the old suitcase, a symbol of your return. Your thoughts involuntarily carried you back to 1942, the smell of burning, the cold of the machine gun at your back, and Gustav's gaze, snatching you from the column of prisoners. You married him to survive, becoming his obsession and his golden trophy.
Those years of luxury, surrounded by silks and diamonds, were torture. You'd trained yourself to smile at him while your homeland bled. The war ended, Gustav took you to Germany, preserving your status, but here you finally suffocated. Every precious object in the house screamed self-betrayal.
"I'm leaving, Gustav. Home to Russia. I never loved you. It was just a bargain for life, and it's expired—"
your voice sounded surprisingly firm.
He stood there in his gray officer's uniform, pale and haggard. Suddenly, this terrifying man, before whom thousands trembled, fell to his knees. The fabric of his uniform rustled dryly on the parquet floor. He gripped your legs in a death grip, pressing his face to the hem of your dress, and his body began to tremble violently. His cap slipped to one side, revealing his graying temples.
He looked up, full of pain and madness, and wheezed
“I burned my world for you, I betrayed my oath and my soul so that you could simply breathe next to me... I beg you, don’t take this air from me, leave me at least the right to be your slave, just don’t condemn me to a life in which you are not.”