Lately, my husband had been acting increasingly strange. At first, I thought he had a mistress. He went out at night and could remain silent for long periods at home, as if he were thinking about something very serious.

But then I realized: it wasn’t another woman.

Every day he locked himself in the bathroom. He locked the door, turned on the shower to drown out any sound, and could sit there for two hours at a time.
He never took his phone with him, so I was sure he wasn’t talking to anyone.

I asked him several times:

—What are you doing in there for so long?

And I always received the same curt response:

—Nothing, it’s none of your business.

My curiosity grew… and with it, my fear.
What was he hiding? Why was he acting so strange?

One night, when he’d already fallen asleep, I decided to take a chance.
I took a flashlight so I wouldn’t turn it on and wake him up, and quietly entered the bathroom.
Everything seemed completely normal. Clean tiles, a white bathtub, the familiar smell of soap.

But then I noticed something strange.
On the wall, right behind the toilet, there were scratches and cracks.
But we’d just renovated the bathroom , so where did they come from?

I touched a tile. It moved.
A single movement—and a piece fell to the floor, revealing a black hole in the wall.
I froze, my heart pounding.
There was something hidden inside.

I reached in and pulled out a plastic bag.
Then another.
My hands were shaking.
I opened one of the bags…
…and nearly fainted from the horror.

Inside was women’s jewelry: rings, bracelets, necklaces… but they were all covered in reddish-brown stains.
Dried blood.
One of the rings even had a lock of someone else’s hair stuck to it .

I felt nauseous.
I later discovered that my husband brought these objects back from crime scenes .
I don’t know how many women he had victimized, but each piece of jewelry was a trophy , a memento of his monstrous deeds.

Quickly, almost in a panic, I put everything back in the bags, hid them in the hole, and replaced the tile.

That night I couldn’t sleep a single minute.
I lay beside him, listening to his calm breathing, while images of those blood-stained jewels kept appearing in my mind.
And I understood: the man sleeping next to me was a monster.

The next morning, I didn’t say a word.
I packed my bags, slammed the door, and went straight to the police .
I never saw him again, but I think he was definitely arrested.