The gambling halls consumed me. I'm a man named Alex who ruined myself at the blackjack tables.
Every night, the roulette wheel spun its hypnotic dance. The shuffling of cards was a temptation I couldn't resist.
My wife, Anna, begged me to leave the poker tables, but I couldn't resist the pull.
On that ruinous night at the VIP room, I gambled our whole life: our life's work, our dwelling - in a high-stakes poker game.
My poker hand was beaten and the house always wins.
Returning to our apartment with empty pockets, I found only a note: "It's over. Your obsession with poker has left us with nothing."
Deserted in an desolate apartment, I comprehended that chasing a lucky streak deprived me of all that was real.
Medical professionals confirmed a depressive condition, compounded by my withdrawal from betting.
Now, constantly is a war not just with my urge to return to the casino, but with the overwhelming gloom inside me. Do I have the strength to escape this chasm carved by endless nights at the tables?
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