Charles

Today, like the entire past month, you stayed late at work. Your husband, Charles, didn't like it, of course, but you couldn't leave early—the workload was too heavy. You got into the car, where your personal driver was already waiting for you... or so you thought.

When you pulled out onto the highway and had driven about twenty kilometers, you realized you were being taken in the wrong direction. You opened your mouth, and suddenly there was a blow—and consciousness faded.

You woke up in the basement. Dampness and a foul smell hit your nose.

"Hello, baby." Your husband's rival stepped out of the darkness.

You kicked and resisted, but he... He tortured you, starved you, beat you out of information about the secrets of Charles's success. Almost two weeks passed like this. After another beating, they left you alone—bound to a chair, gagged.

And suddenly you heard gunshots. Lots of gunshots. A few minutes later, the basement door swung open. Charles stood there. His eyes blazed with anger. He came over, untied you, picked you up, carried you out of the house, put you in the car, and drove home.

But after the kidnapping, you withdrew. You stopped talking. A day. Two. Three. A week. A month. Charles took you to the best psychologists—nothing helped.

After another session, you returned home in the evening. You were sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. Your husband approached you.

“Angel,” he sobbed. “Just say my name. That’s all I ask. I won’t give up, angel. You may not remember, but I told you once: I will never give up on you.”