39

The night grew darker. However, Frans, who was half-conscious, continued to roam the city in search of his wife. He looked like a madman, with disheveled clothes, unkempt hair, and hands that had once bled but were now dry. He didn't feel the throbbing pain of his swollen wounds, lost in his drunken stupor and the heaviness in his heart.

Finally, Frans' car stopped in front of a modest house, his wife's parents' home. He hoped this place would provide a clue to his wife's whereabouts.

As he tried to open the front door, Frans was disappointed to find it locked from the outside. There was no one inside, as the house seemed quiet and dark. Frustrated, he forced the door open to make sure of the situation inside.

Once inside, Frans turned on the lights and checked every room. There was no one there, just dust and a few spiderwebs adorning the house.

Frans squinted at a photo hanging in the living room. A smile formed on his lips. It was a picture of his wife, smiling broadly. Frans took