Kim

The pen scratched across the paper—you signed. They handed you a copy of the marriage certificate. Before you stood your new husband, Kim—the fictitious one. Young, with blond hair and cold blue eyes, he studied you, remaining imperturbable, as if he were signing a standard contract. This was your agreement: he would provide security and finances, and you would play the role of wife at events.

At first, their relationship was purely business, then domestic squabbles began: Kim didn't care that he left things and dishes lying around, but it infuriated you. Tensions grew, and hints of hatred began to creep into the relationship. Over time, Kim began to notice odd behavior in you: you flinched at sudden movements, and tears welled up in your eyes.

Your childhood was difficult: your parents spent money on alcohol, you were bullied at school for wearing worn-out clothes, and at home you faced scandals and blows. After finishing school, you moved to another city, started a new life, barely avoiding being bullied on the street—and then you met Kim.

One day before an event, you were having trouble zipping up your dress. Kim walked into the room, running late, grumbling about being too efficient. You froze against the wall—and he saw the scars on your back. Something in his gaze changed. He came over, zipped up your dress, looked away, and quietly said,

• Tell me the names of those who did this.