She remembered that during that period, nights were an insurmountable struggle. Insomnia, like an unwelcome guest, had taken over her mind and body. Each evening, it would settle over her like a thick, invisible blanket, preventing her eyelids from closing. No matter what she did, sleep eluded her. She lay in the darkness, eyes wide, a strange tension gripping the entire area around them—unable to close them fully, yet forced to keep them open. Weakened, she did not know how to help herself.
By day, she barely managed her duties. Joy had vanished from her face. She moved like a shadow, slowly, like an old woman, from the kitchen to her room, and lay in bed with sorrow weighing her down. She heard it more and more often from her children: "Come out of the room, Mom."
Ida would only gently stroke their heads, powerless to offer them more of herself. Doubts gnawed at her. Alexander was the only one who, when he saw her utterly broken, offered a trace of kindness. He tried to cheer her up, suggested weekends in nature, bought small gifts—only for the brief calm to be shattered by an even harsher emotional blow.
One of her colleagues, noticing her state, suggested counseling. It took months for her to understand where she was stuck. After a few sessions, she recovered—but he seemed to grow ever more monstrous. Dissatisfied with her progress, he mocked the psychologist, scolded her colleague, and blamed her friends for any mishaps that befell her. He circled her like a thirsty vampire, latching onto her the moment he sensed renewed vitality, draining her to the last drop, leaving her discarded, pale, and powerless.
Yet, she felt stronger. She learned to guard this newly regained strength. Day by day, she grew wiser. The attacks either became rarer or she learned to control their impact. Recovery had begun. Clarity emerged. She realized it was not a sin to speak her mind; the sin was being criticized for what she said without ever being understood.
In the meantime, something changed for her: a new way of understanding him—his sudden shifts, the quiet cruelty hidden beneath his words. What she once couldn't name now revealed itself: a subtle, suffocating form of control. Little by little, she saw how his contradictions tangled her thoughts, pulling her deeper into a confusion that felt dangerously close to losing herself.
Despite the effort she had invested—both in time and money—and despite Alexander's relentless resistance, she felt happiness. The satisfaction of her progress was obvious. Each new day brought strength. She saw his nature clearly. She still did not plan to end the relationship, secretly hoping she could prove her love and change him. In his eyes, she now saw the malice he had never tried to conceal. At last, she saw his true face. She maintained the relationship only out of habit.
"Ida, how long will this continue? Enough time has passed. Many things have become clear to you. You yourself say he's not worth your time. Or are you following the 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush' logic?" Her psychologist asked one day.
"I don't know, really. I'll leave him. But I'm not sure."
"The years are passing. You and I have been working together for almost a year. How much more cruelty can you endure? You are stronger—I guarantee it. You saved yourself from the worst. But you deserve to be happy."
She trembled, recalling conversations and events from her inglorious past. Still, she went back even further, as if all she had endured until then somehow wasn't enough. She swiped her finger across the screen, and the messages slid again like blurred silhouettes before her eyes. When the turbulence settled, she looked at the date:
"20.08.2018 — Without talking to me, you bought a kitchen. Congratulations. You are secretly working behind my back. You use me to walk you through the showrooms, and then you decide for yourself. What am I to you? A driver? From now on, you're free; don't contact me anymore."
She remembered the event. He refused to see that it wasn't her decision alone—that her children were involved, and that he neither lived there nor contributed anything. For him, only his personal perspective mattered. Similar messages followed, pleas and attempts at persuasion, then ten days of silence. She set the phone aside and sighed.
Exhausted from searching for the light that never came.
In the past, her body had endured Pavel's blows. This was another kind of pain—one she hadn't known before. Though her body remembered every strike, she experienced this additional torment differently. She firmly believed that the body could heal and recover on its own, regardless of physical force. What remained was the painful memory, yet the torment from psychological terror did not fade so easily. It was as if invisible pins pierced her mind, leaving wounds that refused to heal.
Weakened by constant abuse, she wished Alexander would at least pause between attacks.
Perhaps the wounds would one day become scars—and, with time, fade into something less painful.
But with him, the assaults became a chronic campaign he seemed unwilling to end. Her hands trembling, she lost her breath for a moment, yet she knew she had acted wisely. Her decision brought partial calm and a new sense of safety. She knew he would never dare to come to her—his power existed only in his messages.
"You don't dare to act like a real man," she once told him when he refused to consider living together. Red with anger, he immediately responded familiarly, dragging her friends into the conflict via social media:
"I'll leave your admirers with hearts under your photos to solve that problem for you."
"Wise decision, Ida," she praised herself, thinking of the block she had just enacted. She knew this attempt would end like countless others if she gave in to provocation.