Three years of marriage… and every night my husband went into his mother’s room. At first, I thought it was just care — after all, she’s elderly, probably afraid to sleep alone. But over time, it turned into something strange and frightening.
Every night I heard him quietly get up, trying not to creak the floor, and disappear behind the door across from ours. I lay alone, staring at the ceiling, asking myself: what’s wrong with me? Why does he go to his mother’s room every night?
I tried talking to him, but he only smiled gently:
— Mom’s afraid to sleep alone, you understand.
Three years — and I stopped believing his words. The house had become cold, even when the fireplace was lit. One night I couldn’t take it anymore. When he got up and left, I followed him. My heart was pounding so loudly I was afraid he would hear me.
He entered her room and quietly closed the door. I approached and pressed my ear to the wood. A few seconds of silence… then I heard his mother’s trembling voice:
— Careful, son…
At that moment, I felt the air leave my lungs. I realized what was really happening behind that door…
At that moment, I felt the air leave my lungs. I realized: everything I believed was a lie. My heart tightened with pain and resentment, but something inside whispered: “Stop… you need to understand what’s really happening.”
I cautiously moved closer and pressed my ear against the door. The voice was weak, trembling:
— Son… my back hurts unbearably, I can barely turn.
Three years of marriage… and every night my husband went into his mother’s room
And then I saw the truth. His mother was suffering — she had serious dermatological problems, her skin covered in irritation and inflammation that prevented her from sleeping.
During the day, she tried to smile so no one would see her suffering, but at night the pain became unbearable.
He would sit on the edge of the bed, carefully supporting her, applying ointment to the sore areas, making sure she could move without causing herself pain.
Three years of marriage… and every night my husband went into his mother’s room
He spoke calmly, gently, soothing her fears, helping her get comfortable so she could rest at least a little. No “mysterious connection” — just a son caring for his mother.
I stood there, unable to move, and for the first time in months I understood: he had not betrayed me. He was simply doing his duty — quietly, discreetly, at night, so as not to disturb anyone.