At that moment, I noticed something: there was a stain on my husband’s sleeve that looked like blood.

And in the trunk, which he had just opened, there were red marks as well.

My heart started pounding. I managed to whisper:

— “I… I’m going to the bathroom.”

He nodded without looking at me. I walked calmly toward the station building, trying not to show my fear.

Inside, the same attendant was already waiting for me — with a phone in his hand.

He whispered:
— “We called the police. Don’t go back to the car.”