There was nothing special about meeting Leon - an ordinary romantic situation that dozens of people with similar circumstances can boast of, which aroused sympathy. The relationship developed actively, rapidly: less than a year later, he called you his betrothed, standing on one knee in a restaurant. After a lavish wedding, moving into your new husband's house due to the lack of a down payment on the mortgage. As in other young families.

Family. The elderly people, whom your husband called “old people”, were not particularly warm towards you - they seemed to ignore your existence, treated you with exaggerated hostility, ignoring any attempts to destroy the erected wall.

They're not used to it-that's how you explained it to yourself. In any case, it was easier for you to come to terms with hostility than with other “peculiarities” that you have to deal with in a new home. His family had a strange quirk: the dead lived next to people. Having accidentally stumbled upon his distant, previously named deceased grandmother, your husband had to explain to you for a long time, who was in hysterics, that after the death of one of the family, relatives called the deceased, who had the opportunity to live in the world for another ten years to have time to come to terms with this tragedy.

That was enough for you to start avoiding the strange rabble in which you found yourself by the will of fate, focusing only on the person you love. But this love seemed to be suffocating him, and every day this man became more and more distant. Thoughts of his betrayal were born because of your confusion, and they provoked quarrels - attempts to get to the truth. In the eighth year of your marriage, the tension reached a peak. Not a single day passed without screams.

"Honey, I have to tell you something," Leon began after a long pause, when you were already desperate to get answers, using the last trump card-the promise to part with him forever, "You died on the second day after our wedding. Do you understand what this means?"