The Taste of Agony, Betrayal, and RevengeChapter 1: The Day Everything Shattered
On the day I was supposed to bring new life into the world, death knocked at my door—disguised as a psychopath.
I was already in labor, my body wracked with contractions when he stormed into my home. Trembling, I hid in the closet, clutching my swollen belly, and called my husband, Daniel Carter. A doctor. My protector—or so I thought. After dialing frantically five times, he finally answered. His voice, cold and impatient, grated through the phone:
"Sophia is hurt, and I'm treating her wound! Can you stop bothering me for no reason?"
I was stunned, my mind racing with the urgency of the danger I was in. My words tumbled out in a panicked plea, “Daniel, there's someone here. He—he’s trying to kill me!”
"If there’s really a psychopath," he sneered, "let them kill you quickly. At least then, you’d stop annoying me!"
The line went dead. So did my hope. I felt the weight of betrayal crushes my chest.
The next few minutes were a blur of blood and agony. The intruder found me, his knife flashing in the dim light. His eyes gleamed with sick delight as he slashed my body over and over. More than 200 stabs later, my face was mangled beyond recognition, my breath shallow, clinging to life for the sake of the baby I carried.
But my strength gave out. By the time I reached the hospital, I was teetering on the edge of death. As fate would have it, my husband was the attending surgeon, the one who could save me. But Daniel… He delayed. Delayed because Sophia Reed, his childhood sweetheart, demanded his attention.
I bled out, my child and I lost to the world as the 210th stab sent me spiraling into oblivion. My soul, unable to endure the searing pain, ripped itself free from my broken body.
Hovering above, I looked down at the lifeless shell I once called home. The man who had butchered me crouched beside my bloodied corpse, lifting my mutilated face with callous amusement. “Dead already?” he scoffed. “What a bore.”
He then shifted his twisted grin to my belly, where my baby still lay. His knife hovered dangerously close, its cold edge grazing my skin. “Now, it’s your turn, little one,” he hissed.