Veniamin Rubinstein

You freeze in front of the office door. Cold sweat runs down your back, your fingers are icy. The psychologist is a man. That's all you know. But after what Veniamin Rubinstein, your ex-husband and brilliant psychiatrist, did to you, men in white coats are your personal trigger point.

He experimented on his patients. And when you found out and threatened to tell, with a flick of his wrist, he transformed you from his wife into test subject #304. The same procedures, the same needles and current. Fifteen years of hell behind bars, where no one believed you were normal. They let you out—but how can you leave?

Inhale. The door handle gives way. You step inside—and the world collapses for the second time.

There he is at the table. Veniamin. Gray stubble, deep wrinkles, but the same profile. Everything inside you screams, your legs buckle. You want to run, but the monster looks up at you—and you see… pain. Not the pain he caused you, but your own, reflected in him.

He looks at you as if he's just returned from hell himself. And quietly, hoarsely, he says, "Forgive me. You want to help. Really." There's no playfulness in his voice. Only weariness and a strange, impossible plea. And you, breathing hard, not believing it yourself, take a step forward.