he often disappeared in the evenings, and at home, he would withdraw into silence as if consumed by secret thoughts. But soon it became clear: this wasn’t about infidelity. It was something much darker.
Every night, without fail, he would lock himself in the bathroom. The door bolted, the sound of running water masking whatever he was doing, and he would remain inside for nearly two hours. He never brought his phone with him, so I knew he wasn’t speaking to anyone.
“What on earth are you doing in there?” I asked once.
“Nothing. Leave it alone,” he snapped, his eyes flashing in a way that made me drop the subject.
But my unease only grew. Curiosity gnawed at me until it became unbearable. One night, after he had drifted into a deep sleep, I decided to find out the truth. With a flashlight in hand, I slipped into the bathroom as quietly as I could. At first glance, everything looked ordinary: spotless tiles, a freshly scrubbed bathtub, the faint smell of soap.
Then my eyes caught something odd. Behind the toilet, several tiles bore small cracks and scratches that shouldn’t have been there—we had only just finished renovating the bathroom. My pulse quickened.
I touched one of the tiles, and it shifted beneath my fingers. A slight push, and it fell to the floor, revealing a hollow space behind the wall. My breath caught in my throat. Inside were several plastic bags stuffed into the cavity.
With trembling hands, I pulled one out and tore it open. What I saw inside made the room spin.
Jewelry—women’s rings, necklaces, bracelets—all smeared with dark, dried stains. Blood. On one ring, strands of someone else’s hair clung stubbornly.
I stumbled back, bile rising in my throat. I realized then that my husband had been hiding trophies—keepsakes from victims. How many women had suffered at his hands, I could not know.
In a panic, I shoved everything back into the wall, replaced the tile as best I could, and fled the bathroom. That night, I lay stiff in bed beside him, staring into the dark, hearing his calm, steady breathing. To think that the man I shared my home and life with was a predator—it nearly broke me.
At dawn, I made my choice. Without a word, I packed a suitcase, walked out the front door, and went straight to the police. I never saw him again, but I know in my heart that justice found him.