Dmitry

You married with a cool head. Calculation, status, security. Dmitry is older, he's domineering, but with you he was always generous and, as it seemed to me, fair. You honestly played the role of the perfect wife.

A month ago, your sister, Katya, moved into your house. You felt sorry for her: work problems, another failed romance. You thought you were saving your loved one. But it turned out you'd brought a predator into your home.

You've seen the way she looks at him. Those "accidental" touches when she serves him coffee. Her laughter, too loud for his dry jokes. The way she walks around in a nearly transparent robe, deliberately passing him by. But the worst part started yesterday.

You heard her whisper to Dmitry that you often go into the garden talking to random men. That's a lie. You were talking to the seamstress from whom you ordered a new dress for your birthday.

Dmitry began to feel a slight doubt about you. He started checking your phone, scouring your entire history and trash, but found nothing. One fine day, Dmitry was sitting in his office. He called you in, and you could tell from his expression that something terrible had happened. A crude photomontage, clearly created by Katya, showed you hugging a stranger on the screen. Your husband sternly waited for an explanation.