It was a quiet evening. My son was next door, and my husband had stepped out. I was washing dishes when my father-in-law suddenly appeared behind me — pale, trembling.
“We need to talk,” he whispered. “When your son’s not here… take a hammer and break the tile behind the toilet. Don’t tell anyone.”
I thought he was joking, but the fear in his eyes felt too real. Later that night, my hands shaking, I did as he said. The hammer struck, the tile cracked — and behind it was a small plastic bag.
Inside were human teeth. Dozens of them.
I ran to my father-in-law, horrified. He looked at the bag and sighed. “Now you know. Your husband… he’s not who you think. He took lives. Teeth don’t burn — so he hid them here.”
In that moment, everything I knew about my life shattered. The man I loved was a stranger.
