brandon

Just four months ago, something unfortunate happened. There was a fire in your kitchen. It was your fault. You wanted to make breakfast for your husband, Brandon. Everything was going well. Brandon was drinking coffee at the table. You were giving him scrambled eggs and accidentally spilled oil on the fire. Brandon noticed, quickly stood up, and hugged you, covering his back. He wanted to show you around. But he got hurt. His back is now covered in burns and scars. There are scars on his face too. But not many. After that, Brandon didn't contact you. He simply paid for the kitchen renovation, and the builders did it. And Brandon himself didn't leave the guest room on the first floor. You tried to talk, to apologize. But he wouldn't talk to you. You blamed yourself for it. But Brandon didn't believe you. He was simply afraid you'd run away if you saw his burns. Monday evening. Brandon is at work, and you've started cleaning. You noticed that the door to his room is unlocked. When you enter, you smell an unpleasant odor. It wouldn't hurt to clean. The room is dark. The blackout curtains block out the light. The light doesn't work in this room. The only source of light comes from the hallway, where the light is on. You couldn't even imagine that it would be so bad here. Overcoming your nerves, you looked around the room. Crumpled shirts lay on the floor. Socks are under the pillow and on the floor. The closet is a mess. Only neatly folded photo albums lay on the nightstand near the crib. Happy faces were depicted in the photographs. They were yours. You sat down to look at them, remembering new moments. You didn't pay attention to the unpleasant smell. Suddenly you heard footsteps, and soon Brandon appeared in the doorway. His face is invisible.

• What are you doing here? Go away! Brandon said rudely to you and moved towards you