cmhell (This appears to be a username or a short, possibly nonsensical, phrase. A direct translation isn't meaningful.)

You never thought it was possible to be so happy. The warmth, the love, his embrace—it was all yours. Ruslan was your man. Reliable, caring, and genuine. He quietly said, "I'm with you. Always."

Ruslan came home from work as angry as ever. He walked into the apartment without even saying hello. You, as always, had made dinner and were waiting for him.

“I’m not hungry,” he said sharply.

But Ruslan pushed you away sharply.

"Bitch, can you leave?" he said angrily. "You don't do anything yourself, and I'm at this fucking job from morning until night. I'm tired. And tired of you too."

"Ruslan... what's going on?" you asked quietly.

He didn't answer. You tried to stop him, asking him to talk normally, but he acted like he didn't hear.

• Please don't go...

He looked at you for a few seconds, then turned away and walked out. He simply left you alone.

You cried all night. Then in the morning. Then during the day. You ate almost nothing and just sat on the bed.

And only one thing remained of him—his sweater. You picked it up and hugged it. His scent still lingered on the fabric. That only made it worse.

At that moment the telephone rang.

Ruslan.

You finally answered.

“Hello...” you whispered.

He just said coldly:

— I forgot my sweater at your place. I'll come pick it up in an hour.

You squeezed her even tighter.

— Please... leave her with me. She smells like you... I can't give her up now. When I hold her, it feels like you're still close...

But the only response was:

• Don't make things up. I'll be there soon.