A distant relative of the family, a man around seventy whose wife had died long ago, offered to help. He said he could cover part of the debts, pay for housing, and help with my father’s treatment. We were ready to fall at his feet.

But his “kindness” came with a repulsive and strange condition: I had to marry him. For a young woman, it’s hard to imagine anything more disgusting. But I agreed — for my father, for my family — convincing myself that he was old, that he wouldn’t live long, and that at least we would be saved.

I was terrified of the wedding night. I sat on the edge of the bed, hugging my knees, shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I was afraid even to imagine what would happen when he came in.

And then the door opened. He entered slowly, heavily, with a strange wandering gaze… and he brought a chair with him. He placed it next to the bed, sat down, and in a quiet voice — as if it were the most normal request in the world — he said:

— Nothing will happen between us tonight. Sleep.

— And… will you sleep next to me?

— No. I want to watch you while you sleep.

My blood turned to ice. What did that mean? Was he a maniac? Insane? But I was exhausted, and I knew that in the morning I had to appear obedient — for my father’s sake. So I lay down, without even taking off my wedding dress.

When I woke up in the morning, he was gone.

The next night, the same thing happened. He placed the chair next to the bed again, sat down, and silently watched me without blinking, as if waiting for me to fall asleep. On the third night — the same.

I began to believe my husband was insane, that he was hiding something terrible, and I couldn’t understand what he wanted from me.

But on the fourth night, something happened that froze me in horror.

I was already asleep when I felt movement beside me. A heavy, raspy breath at my ear jolted me awake. I opened my eyes — and saw my husband right in front of me, so close I could smell his old cologne. But what he was doing was even more terrifying. 😨😱 Continued in first comment 👇👇

He was gently putting a wig on me — long, old-fashioned, faded by time. On my chest he laid a strange, yellowed dress. It looked at least forty years old. With trembling hands he smoothed the folds, as if dressing a doll.

— What are you doing?! My God, you’re insane! — I screamed, trying to get up. — Take that off me right now!

He jerked back, shaking his head in fear, and stammered:

— No! I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to frighten you! You… you look so much like Marta… my wife… She died twenty years ago. I… I miss her so much… Sometimes I think that if I wait long enough, if I arrange her dress properly, if I watch you breathe… she’ll come back.

He spoke while trembling all over, and in his eyes there was something that made my skin crawl — not malice, but complete emptiness, madness, loneliness.

I stepped back toward the door, and only then did I notice an old photograph on the nightstand. In the picture was a young woman… and she really did look like me.

— Please — he whispered, still sitting on the floor beside the bed. — Just let me watch. I won’t touch you. I won’t hurt you. Just watch.

And then I understood: I was living with a man driven mad by his own grief.