Sometimes we look into the eyes of someone we love and believe we can see into the depths of their soul. We convince ourselves that we know every corner of their being, every nuance of their personality, every shadow and every light. But reality strikes us with a devastating truth when that gaze we thought was transparent turns out to be a mirror that only reflected back our own hopes.

         In France, Gisèle Pelicot lived through this terrible revelation for ten years without knowing it. Each night, while her husband prepared dinner for her with apparent love and served her ice cream with a smile, she thanked heaven for having such an attentive and caring man by her side. That gratitude, those words of love whispered in the intimacy of their home, transformed into daggers when the truth came to light. That man who claimed to love her had been systematically sedating her to allow strangers to assault her, turning their bedroom into the scene of an unimaginable nightmare.

^{Credit: The New York Times}

        Gisèle's story paralyzes us because it confronts us with our deepest fears. It's not the shadows in dark alleys we should fear most, but the darkness that can dwell in the hearts of those who claim to love us. Women live with this reality every day, walking through the world with an acute awareness of our vulnerability, but nothing prepares us for discovering that the monster sleeps beside us.

        Human beings have a terrifying capacity to compartmentalize their evil. For years, this man maintained a perfect double life, transitioning between the role of devoted husband and orchestrator of repeated assaults against the woman he had sworn to protect. And while she suffered from inexplicable health problems, he feigned concern, consoled her, "cared" for her. The perversity of this deception reaches levels that the mind resists processing.

        The signs were there, Gisèle tells us now. The unexplained ailments, the mornings of confusion, the strange sensations her mind tried to rationalize. But how can one suspect the man who covers you when you're cold, who cares for you when you're sick, who looks at you with apparent adoration? The deepest betrayal comes wrapped not in threats, but in gestures of love.

         When cases like this come to light, society reacts with horror, but also with a kind of morbid fascination. We wonder how it's possible for someone to maintain this duality, how such evil can exist beneath a mask of normality. But perhaps the most disturbing question is how many more like him walk among us, leading apparently normal lives while feeding impulses that defy our understanding of humanity.

         The demonstrations that have emerged in support of Gisèle show that her pain has touched a sensitive nerve in society. Her decision to make her case public, to show her face and tell her story, transforms her personal tragedy into a warning cry for all. It's not just her story; it's a brutal reminder that evil doesn't always have a recognizable face, that danger can lurk in the spaces we believe are safest.

^{Credit: ABC Color}

        And if the husband's betrayal horrifies us, what can we say about those men who responded to his call? Men who willingly agreed to participate in this act of barbarity, who entered the bedroom of an unconscious woman to assault her. Men who now, at the height of cynicism, dare to argue that they "didn't know" she was unconscious, as if that could absolve them of their monstrosity. Human depravity reaches new depths when these individuals, faced with their actions, try to shield themselves with ignorance instead of facing the magnitude of their perversion.

        What kind of society have we built where men exist who are capable of responding to an advertisement to assault an unconscious woman? What darkness dwells in their souls that they can justify such acts? Each of them made the conscious decision to participate in this atrocity. Each chose to become a perpetrator. They weren't dragged by circumstances or acting in a moment of weakness; they responded to an invitation to commit an act of supreme violence against a defenseless woman.

        Women have spent generations passing down survival strategies, teaching each other to stay alert, to take care, to be wary. But how do we protect ourselves when the predator disguises himself as a protector? How do we maintain the capacity to love and trust when we discover that the human heart can harbor such rot? How do we live in peace in a world where men exist who are capable of committing such cruel acts with such ease?

          Gisèle reminds us that the fight against violence towards women isn't just against individual aggressors, but against a culture that allows monsters to camouflage themselves among us, that provides them masks of normality behind which to hide their true nature. A culture where some men see the female body as an object at their disposal, where assault can be met with banal excuses, where sexual violence can be organized with the coldness of a commercial transaction. As she herself said, "Shame has already changed sides, but what about justice?"