After my grandmother’s funeral, I went to her house to collect the last of her belongings, but the neighbor stopped me and said: “Do you know what your husband did here while your grandmother was still alive?”

After my grandmother’s funeral, I went to her house to collect the last of her belongings, but the neighbor stopped me and said: “Do you know what your husband did here while your grandmother was still alive?” 

My grandmother’s funeral, the only close person I had in this world, was awful. I could barely stand on my feet; luckily, my husband was by my side the whole time, supporting me.

After the funeral, he kept repeating:
— We need to sell your grandmother’s house in the village as soon as possible. Why do you need it? It’s just a burden.

At first, I resisted: in that house I had spent the best years of my childhood, my soul lived there. But under his pressure, I finally agreed.

A few weeks later, I went to the village to gather the last of the things. When I approached the gate, my grandmother’s elderly neighbor stopped me.

— My condolences for your loss, my dear, — she said quietly.
— Thank you, grandma, — I replied.
— But… do you know what your husband did here while your grandmother was still alive?

I froze. Her words echoed in my chest like ice.

— What… what do you mean? — I asked, my voice trembling.

The neighbor only sighed, shook her head, and turned her gaze away.

I stepped into the house — and what I saw inside left me in shock.  To be continued in the first comment 

At first, it seemed everything was as before: the old stove, the creaking floor. But as soon as I went up to the attic, a horrifying scene opened before my eyes.

In the corner stood a wardrobe. When I opened it, chills ran down my spine: my grandmother’s clothes — her neat dresses, warm sweaters, her favorite embroidered blouse — were torn, dirty, some even slashed with a knife.

In a sack lay her broken glasses and a shattered cup she had always used for tea.

I was trembling, unable to believe my eyes. Only one thought kept pounding in my head: who could have done this?

And then the neighbor, who had followed me into the house, said:

— He came here drunk. He screamed, punched the walls with his fists, and took out his anger on your grandmother. She never complained, but I heard everything… You’re wrong to think he’s so caring.

Terror gripped me. All this time, I had been living with a man who humiliated and tormented the person dearest to me in the whole world. I felt the ground slipping away beneath my feet.