He frequently vanished in the nights, and when home, he would retreat into quiet as if engulfed by clandestine reflections.
However, it soon became evident that this issue was not related to adultery. It was considerably more sinister. Each night, without exception, he would confine himself to the toilet. The door secured, the sound of running water concealing his activities, and he would stay inside for about two hours. He consistently left his phone behind, indicating he was not communicating with anyone. “What are you doing in there?” I enquired once. “Nothing.” “Leave it be,” he retorted, his eyes glinting in a manner that compelled me to abandon the topic. However, my discomfort only intensified.
Curiosity consumed me till it became intolerable. One night, after he had succumbed to a profound slumber, I resolved to uncover the truth. Holding a torch, I entered the bathroom as silently as possible. Initially, everything appeared unremarkable: immaculate tiles, a recently cleaned bathtub, and a subtle scent of soap. Subsequently, my gaze was drawn to something peculiar. Several tiles behind the toilet had minor fractures and scratches that were unexpected, given that we had recently completed the bathroom renovation. My heart rate accelerated. I pressed one of the tiles, and it moved under my fingers. A gentle nudge caused it to topple to the ground, exposing a void beyond the wall. My breath was stifled in my throat. Inside were multiple plastic bags packed into the cavity. With quaking hands, I extracted one and ripped it open.
The sight within caused the room to whirl. Jewelry—women’s rings, necklaces, and bracelets—tainted with dark, desiccated stains. Haemoglobin. Strands of another individual’s hair adhered tenaciously to one ring. I recoiled, nausea surging in my throat. I then discovered that my spouse had concealed trophies—mementos from his victims. I could not ascertain the number of women who had endured his abuse. In a state of panic, I hastily returned all items to the wall, reinstalled the tile as well as possible, and exited the bathroom. That night, I lay rigid in bed next him, gazing into the darkness, listening to his tranquil, rhythmic breathing. To contemplate that the individual with whom I shared my domicile and existence was a predator—it almost shattered me. At daybreak, I made my decision.
I silently packed a suitcase, exited the front door, and proceeded directly to the police station. I never encountered him again, however I am convinced that justice located him.
