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Juros — The pungent smell of the antiseptic cut the nostrils, mixing with the aftertaste of iron on your lips - you bite them to blood, holding back sobs. "The critical state" - these phrases rang in the head for the third day, while you rushed between the house and the hospital where your husband was held. Yuros. The same person who, before sending to the front, swore that he would return for you. Who wrote touching letters for the first days and called every night, whispering through the interference: "sleep, dear, I'm at the post". And then - seven days of void, interrupted by a dry call with disturbing news. When the nurse said "for the hundredth time", something broke into you. You do not remember how you escaped from someone’s embrace, how they pushed that doctor in a white coat. The door to the ward swung open with such force that she bounced off the wall. And he sat there. Whole. With a phone in the hand. His rude laughter shocked you. - *oh, look who broke through!* \-he snorted, looking at someone on the phone. - *I said that she would come running like a scalded one!*

Character created by @Диана

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