The wedding had been like a fairy tale — music, flowers, guests, laughter. I felt as if I were living in a movie where everything was perfect: the white dress, our dance, the joyful faces of our families. He was attentive, gentle, and I believed that day marked the beginning of a long and peaceful life together.
When the guests began to leave, my husband suddenly said he was exhausted. — I think I’ll sleep in the other room, — he said tiredly. — It’s been a long day… so many people.
I didn’t argue. I thought it didn’t matter — tomorrow we would wake up together, and tonight he could rest. But deep inside, a strange feeling of unease began to grow.
That night, I couldn’t fall asleep. In my head, fragments of the celebration echoed — laughter, music, the clinking of glasses. And suddenly — a sound.
At first faint, like a step. Then another. I decided to see what was going on.
I walked down the hallway, my dress rustling heavily against the floor, my heart pounding. The door to his room was slightly open. I pushed it gently — and what I saw froze my blood.
By the bed lay a pair of muddy boots, heavy, with clumps of dirt still stuck to the soles, as if someone had just come in from outside. On the bed was his white shirt. At first, I thought he had just tossed it there carelessly.
But then I saw the stains — red, uneven, as if made in haste. A cold wave of terror gripped my chest. I didn’t know whether to step closer or run away.
I took one step — and screamed. My husband came out of the bathroom, soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down his shoulders. There was no confusion in his eyes — only a cold, calculating focus.
He placed his hand over my mouth. — Shhh… — he whispered, his voice dangerously calm. — Everything’s fine.
Everything’s under control. — What is this? — I managed to ask.
He looked at the shirt, the boots, then back at me. And he began to speak softly, almost in a whisper, as if no one else should hear. — I had a plan, — he said.
— For a long time. It had to be done. He thought he could get away with it.
But he was wrong. I did it today — on our wedding day — because who would suspect the groom who spent the whole evening next to his bride? — And when they ask, I’ll say I was with you all night.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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