Yesterday was December 3rd. When I woke up in the morning, there was nothing inside me. No excitement, no heaviness, no meaning… As if life had switched itself to “empty” for the day. I was carrying myself like a guest in my own day. “I won’t get a story out of today,” I thought. “This day isn’t even worth writing about.” Then suddenly, a friend came by. The conversation started with something as simple as the weather. And then, out of nowhere, a sentence fell from his mouth: “I cheated on my spouse.” In an instant, the emptiness of the day cracked open. An ordinary afternoon opened a door into one of the darkest corners of human nature. At first, I felt sadness not for him, but for the deep, invisible wounds people open inside themselves… For the collapse of trust, the exhaustion of love, for those shadowy places a person cannot explain even to themselves. But then sadness gave way to curiosity: Why? Why does someone betray the person they claim to love? Why does a person run from the very one they want to belong to, searching for themselves inside the body of a stranger? Slowly, an answer formed in my mind: Sometimes a person does not betray their partner, they betray their own emptiness. Sometimes they cheat not on the person they love, but on the disappointment they carry inside themselves. And sometimes, they start seeing in someone else a version of the partner they wish they had. Maybe fidelity is not the real issue. Maybe the truth is this: A person projects the missing part of their partner onto someone else’s face and clings to that illusion. Human emotions are not governed by morality as much as we pretend. Most of the time they are ruled by lack, by emptiness, by feelings that were completed in the wrong places. And that ordinary day suddenly made me realize: People do not get lost because they betray they get lost because something inside them remains unfinished. And everyone who feels incomplete believes they will be completed in someone else. Yesterday, December 3rd, was so painfully ordinary… I thought I wouldn’t have a single word to say. But a day that began in silence suddenly spiraled into the darkest chambers of human psychology. Evening came, and as always, I opened my history notebook. I looked up: “What happened on December 3?” At the top of the page, one event stood out: December 3, 1967 – The first human heart transplant in the world was performed. Christiaan Barnard removed a failing heart from a human body and replaced it with a new one. A turning point in the history of medicine. But while reading that line, another thought crossed my mind: Human beings have always known how to replace their hearts we’ve only recently learned how to do it in a medical sense. Some people change a heart on an operating table, while others change it silently, hidden inside the folds of a relationship. A heart grows old, gets tired, decays. Then suddenly someone appears and awakens places inside you that haven’t moved in years.