Recently, my husband had been acting more and more strangely. At first, I thought he had a mistress. He would go out at night and could remain silent at home for long periods, as if he were thinking about something extremely serious.
But then I realized: it wasn’t 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 could stay there for two hours straight.
He never brought 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 every time I got the same short answer:
“Nothing. It’s none of your business.”
My curiosity grew… and with it, my fear.
What was he hiding? Why was he acting so strangely?
One night, after he had fallen asleep, I decided to take a risk.
I grabbed a flashlight so I wouldn’t have to turn on the light and wake him, and quietly went into the bathroom. Everything looked completely normal—clean tiles, a white bathtub, the familiar smell of soap.
But then I noticed something odd.
On the wall, just behind the toilet, there were scratches and cracks.
But we had just renovated the bathroom—where could they have come from?
I touched one of the tiles. It shifted.
One push—and a piece fell to the floor, revealing a black hole inside the wall.
I felt cold all over. My heart was pounding.
Something was hidden inside.
I stepped closer and pulled out a plastic bag.
Then another one.
My hands were shaking.
I opened one of the bags…
…and I almost fainted from fear.
Inside were women’s jewelry: rings, bracelets, necklaces… all of them covered with reddish-brown stains.
Dried blood.
A lock of someone else’s hair was still stuck to one of the rings.
I felt sick.
Later, I learned that my husband had been taking these items from crime scenes. I don’t know how many women had already become his victims, but each piece of jewelry was a trophy—a reminder of his horrific deeds.
Quickly, almost in a panic, I put everything back into the bags, hid them in the hole, and replaced the tile.
That night, I didn’t sleep for a single minute. I lay beside him, listening to his calm breathing, while images of bloodstained jewelry kept flashing through my mind.
And I understood: the man sleeping next to me was a monster.
The next morning, I said nothing. I packed my bags, closed the door, and went straight to the police.
I never saw him again—but I believe he was arrested without hesitation.