The Taste of Agony, Betrayal, and Revenge

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.

Even though I was unconscious, my hands, instinctively protective, clutched my belly. He snapped my fingers with brutal indifference, wrenching my hands away. Exposing my swollen abdomen, he readied the blade. With just one stab, he could snuff out the fragile life within me.

I screamed, my soul quaking with terror. No! I shrieked, clawing desperately to return to my body, willing to endure the torture all over again just to save my child. But it was futile. I was too far gone. My soul couldn’t return. I was helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

The man cackled, lowering his knife toward my womb. Blood bloomed like a crimson flower beneath the blade. In that moment of complete despair, when all hope had been extinguished, the front door burst open.

A delivery boy I had called earlier—an hour ago, when I first noticed my water breaking—rushed in. With a forceful kick, he sent the psychopath tumbling to the ground.

The man hadn’t expected anyone else to arrive. Panic flashed across his face. Without wasting another second, he scrambled to his feet and bolted.

The delivery boy was my last lifeline, the only help I could turn to after Daniel refused to believe me. The hour before had been a nightmare. I had called Daniel the moment my water broke, pleading with him to come home. But instead of rushing to my side, he accused me of lying. Jealousy, he said. He thought I was pretending, just to get him away from Sophia.

When the intruder broke in, I had no choice but to lock myself in the closet, shaking with fear, as I called Daniel again and again. His response chilled me to the bone, each word cutting deeper than the psychopath’s blade.

"Amelia," he scoffed when he finally picked up, "how many tricks are you going to pull? First, you say your water broke, then someone’s trying to kill you? What’s next? Are you going to tell me you’re dead?"

I couldn’t breathe. The man outside the closet door was banging violently, his voice filled with vile threats. My body was in agony, contractions intensifying, blood trickling down my legs. But all Daniel cared about was Sophia.

"I’m not lying..." I whimpered, but he was already dismissing me to someone nearby.

"Amelia’s just being dramatic. She’s always jealous over nothing. Ignore her," Daniel said. "Don’t worry, I’ll stay by your side until you’re better, Sophia."

Sophia’s sugary voice responded, “But is Amelia okay?”

“What could happen to her? She’s always playing the victim. I’m sick of it!” Daniel snapped before hanging up on me, leaving me frozen in shock.

Ten years of love. Three years of marriage. And this was how he treated me—like I was nothing.

I wanted to believe it wasn’t true. I called again, but before I could, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Sophia. Attached was a photo of Daniel, kneeling before her, tenderly blowing on her wound. His expression was one of deep affection, the kind of love he once showed me.

Sophia: [Daniel said seeing me hurt broke his heart. He’s not going anywhere. You might as well give up. Oh, and enjoy the little surprise I planned for you!]

That’s when I knew my heart had shattered.