Viktor had fallen in love with Nika because of her body. He had seen her, liked her, and then that familiar flutter had appeared in his stomach. He assumed it was the same for other men. After all, beauty matters. In many societies, it is elevated almost to a cult. Isn’t it natural that partners are chosen based on appearance? Isn’t beauty nature’s way of ensuring the birth of healthy offspring?

Complicated, somewhat philosophical questions. Viktor often asked himself such things. Because lately, Nika’s beauty no longer brought him happiness—only fleeting satisfaction. In the end, even that satisfaction disappeared.

What did Nika’s body look like? Here is a brief description.

This young woman was 168 centimeters tall and weighed 50 kilograms. She appeared slightly plump because of her delicate bone structure. Her figure was perfect. Her hands and feet were charmingly small and refined. Her face was doll-like, with exceptionally soft features. Her hair was dark blonde and straight. And her eyes ... they were multicolored—gray, blue, and green all at once.

How could one not fall in love with such a marvel? A true princess. And what a name—Nika! So rare, almost unique.

Somehow, Viktor managed to win her over and make her his wife, defeating her many admirers. Why she chose him, however, was difficult to answer. Perhaps she appreciated his selflessness and devotion. Or perhaps she had simply decided it was time to get married.

He could look at her for hours without growing tired. And when he was with her in bed, he felt bliss.

But Nika’s attitude toward him was far from kind. She often behaved arrogantly—making jokes at his expense, subtly mocking him, using him. She probably thought she had chosen a weak man, that she had missed out on far better opportunities. There were no major arguments, because Viktor endured everything without protest.

Especially painful was the fact that she carefully avoided any risk of pregnancy—as if it were beneath her dignity to bear his child. She was likely waiting for the right moment to ask for a divorce.

Viktor was torn. On the one hand, he was proud to have such a beautiful wife. On the other, it hurt him that they were not equals. He had fallen into the role of a servant. Not that she was rude or crude—she simply carried herself with a regal distance, as though family meant nothing to her.

Their marriage did not seem to have a bright future. But Viktor did everything he could to please her, hoping to keep her for as long as possible. He was convinced he would lose her soon. Surely there were thousands of men more handsome, wealthier, and smarter than he was.

Then, on one black Saturday, something terrible happened to Nika’s body.

In the parking lot of a local supermarket, as they were putting groceries into the trunk of their Opel, a drunk driver struck Nika, throwing her twenty meters away—right into a fence.

At the sight of her twisted limbs, Viktor nearly fainted. He dropped to his knees beside her and began to pray that life would not leave her. Nika—her face as white as the snow around them—regained consciousness just long enough to let out a long, agonized moan. Her eyes were clouded with pain.