I woke up bald and immediately guessed that my husband had done it: it hurt, but I decided to take re:ven:ge on him 😢😢

The morning started strangely. I woke up from the feeling of cold on my head, and, touching it with my hand, froze in horror. Smooth skin under my fingers. Not a single hair.

My heart was pounding wildly. I jumped out of bed and, stumbling, ran to the bathroom. A strange woman was looking at me in the mirror – completely bald, with wide-open eyes and trembling lips.

“No…” I whispered, and tears flowed on my own.

I returned to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and covered my face with my hands. My thoughts were confused. It could have been anything – an illness, a reaction to something… But deep inside, I refused to believe one terrible guess – that my husband had done it.

I grabbed the phone and dialed his number.

“Did you do this?” I asked, unable to keep my voice from shaking.

“What exactly?” His voice was icy innocent.

“I… I’m bald,” I almost screamed.

He sighed.

“I’ve wa:rned you several times. In the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the bedroom – your hair is everywhere. I’m tired, I’m disgusted. Now – there won’t be any hair.”

My chest tightened with pain and anger.

“Are you… are you kidding me?!” I screamed, but he had already started making excuses, saying something about “cleanliness” and “order.”

We argued for a long time. He didn’t see a problem with what he did. And for me, it was a betrayal.

At some point, I stopped listening to him. I already knew what I would do. I would take re:ve:nge. And I did something that I don’t regret at all. I’m telling my story, and I really hope for your support. 😢😢 Continued in the first comment 👇👇

First, I took all his things out of the closet and, without thinking, burned them in the backyard.

Smoke rose, and inside there was some strange feeling of liberation. What, they were in my way and disgusting.

Then I went up to the bedroom, took his old laptop – the same one that had been gathering dust on the closet for months and bothering me – and threw it in the trash.

The next victim was the treadmill.

For years, it took up half the room, collecting dust.

I happily took it apart and carried it to the dumpster. I was disgusted by it.

In the evening, my husband came home. Hungry, irritated.

“Why isn’t dinner ready?” he asked.

I calmly looked him in the eyes.

“Because I didn’t cook anything.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I had already packed my bag.

“I’m tired of cleaning up after you. Tired of putting up with it. And tired of being around someone who could do that.”

I closed the door behind me, leaving him in the silence of the empty apartment.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe freely.