On my wedding night, I had to give my bed to my mother-in-law because she was “drunk”; the next morning I found something stuck to the sheet that left me speechless… On my wedding night, I was exhausted after a long day attending to the guests, so I retired to my room, hoping to cuddle with my husband and sleep peacefully.

The next morning, I went back to the room to call Etha for breakfast.

The door was ajar.

Empυjé sυavemeпte…

The room was empty.

The sheets were wrinkled, the smell of perfume was strong and on the nightstand there was an old photograph: a picture of Etha at eight years old, sitting on his mother’s lap, with his father standing behind him but with half of his face cut off.

I picked up the photo. On the back there was a handwritten note: