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

But then I realized: this was not another woman.

Every day he locked himself in the bathroom. He would lock the door, turn on the shower to drown out any sound, and he could sit there for two hours straight.
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 he always received the same curt answer:

“Nothing, it’s none of your business.

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

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

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

I touched a tile. Moved.
A single movement — and a piece fell to the ground, 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 I almost fainted from horror.

Inside there was women’s jewelry: rings, bracelets, necklaces… but they were all covered with reddish-brown spots.
Dried blood.
A lock of someone else’s hair was even stuck to one of the rings.

I felt nauseous.
I later found out that my husband was bringing these objects from crime scenes.
I don’t know how many women had been his victims, but each jewel was a trophy, a reminder of his monstrous deeds.

Quickly, almost panickingly, I put everything back in the bags, hid them in the hole, and repositioned the tile.

That night I couldn’t sleep for a minute.
I was lying next to him, listening to his calm breathing, while the images of those bloodstained jewels kept appearing in my mind.
And I understood: the man who slept next to me was a monster.

The next morning, I didn’t say a word.
I packed my bags, slammed the door shut and went straight to the police.
I never saw him again, but I think he was arrested without a doubt.