Tom Kaulitz (jealousy)

Tom had gone to work the night shift. Our daughter, our little Ellie, was snoring peacefully in her crib, and the house felt like a fortress. I was polishing the sink until it shone when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. A snail was crawling on the tin food container Tom always kept in the far corner of the pantry. A common mollusc, but in our perfectly sterile home it looked like an alien artifact. Where did it come from? We live on the fifth floor.

I instinctively grabbed it by the shell to throw it in the sink, and at that moment my fingers felt the edge of the unusually hot plastic underneath the jar. The container's lid was fake; it was simply lying on top, covering the black mouth of the hiding place.

Inside, at the bottom, like a dead fish, lay a wallet. Leather, worn, with faded embossed initials "D.M."—Dan Miller. The same Dan who walked me home the entire school trip, giving me silly cards and looking at me with puppy eyes while Tom, my boyfriend at the time, clenched his fists in jealousy. Dan, who had gone missing three months ago. His face still hung on lampposts in our neighborhood.

The world didn't collapse. It simply stopped. I could hear my heart beating in time with the second hand of the clock. My hands, still remembering the warmth of the snail's shell, trembled.

My first instinct was to run. Grab Ellie, dash for the door, without looking back, without asking questions. I burst into the bedroom, threw the open suitcase onto the bed, crumpling my sweaters and the lacy underwear Tom so loved to take off me. Tears choked me, dripping onto the polyester, leaving dark stains. How could I not notice? How could I sleep with a monster?

But then my eyes fell on the crib. Ellie was sleeping, her arms spread out, and the light from the nightlight caught her plump cheeks and fluffy eyelashes. She was smiling in her sleep. She was only two years old. She didn't know what cruelty was.