We had been married for three years, our love still strong and ardent, when one day my husband, with a serious look, abruptly told me:
“I want to sleep alone for a while…”
I was stunned. For any woman, those words are like lightning. I cried, lashed out, and tried furiously to resist, but he remained immovable. In the end, powerless, I had no choice but to submit.
However, uneasiness persisted within me. I kept thinking, “Could he be seeing someone else?” Has he already been disgusted by me?” These fears overwhelmed me day and night, robbing both my appetite and my sleep.
One evening, while my husband was away, I finally dared to hire a worker to drill a tiny hole, no larger than a thumb, in the corner of his bedroom wall.
The following night, my heart beating wildly, I pressed my eye against the hole, my entire body trembling.
And then… I nearly collapsed in sh0ck.
Inside the room, he wasn’t holding another woman. Instead, he was kneeling, surrounded by candles, incense, and an old photograph. His eyes were swollen, tears streaming down as he whispered a woman’s name and sobbed like a lost child.
That woman… she was no stranger. It was his wedding photo with his first wife, the one who had passed away five years earlier.
He had asked to sleep alone not to betray me, but because he longed, in silence, to return to the memories of that first love he had never let go of.
