My husband was a psychopath. In the first year of our marriage, he killed my father. I forgave him. The second year, he killed my mother. I forgave him again. By the third year, he took my daughter from me and somehow, I still forgave him.

Now, in the fourth year, he finally pointed a knife at me.

I was overjoyed. Stretching out my arm, I smiled, my voice trembling with anticipation.

"Go on—right here!"

***

My husband, Josh, had been released from the mental hospital again. I spent the whole afternoon preparing a table full of dishes to welcome him home—braised beef, steamed vegetables, his favorite mushroom soup, even a freshly baked pie cooling on the counter. I wanted everything to be perfect, as if the past didn't exist.

The moment my relatives learned of his release, they stormed in without warning, their faces flushed with frustration. The front door banged open, letting in the chill of winter and with it came their harsh words.

"Are you out of your mind? He's a murderer! Why are you keeping him around?" my uncle bellowed, his voice trembling with both anger and fear.

My aunt, clutching her coat tightly around her chest, added, "He killed his own mother, then your parents. What are you thinking?"

I met their accusatory gazes with a calm, steady expression and firmly shook my head. "You've all misunderstood him. He's actually a very good person."

The room fell into a tense silence. Only the faint ticking of the wall clock could be heard as I took a deep breath before continuing, "His mother's death was ruled self-defense—an accident. It haunted him and he wasn't himself either when he killed my parents. He's just... unwell. With the right treatment, he can get better."

My relatives exchanged incredulous glances, their disbelief evident. My uncle pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, while my aunt clenched her jaw, her lips thinning into a disapproving line.

"You're beyond help. One day, he's going to kill you too," my uncle said, his voice low but cutting.

I chuckled softly, the sound more to myself than to anyone else. They didn't understand. How could they? I was honestly looking forward to that day.

Turning away from them, I approached Josh, who had been standing quietly in the corner, his hands clasped in front of him. His expression was serene, almost detached, as if their words didn't touch him. I reached out and touched his arm gently, offering him a reassuring smile.

"Honey, don't worry about what they say. They don't understand you."

Josh nodded calmly, his voice quiet but steady. "Thank you, Catherine. You're the only one who sees me."

The tension hung in the air for a moment longer before my relatives, seeing that they could do nothing to change my mind, left in anger, muttering under their breath about my foolishness. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving a hollow echo in its wake.

I watched them go, my heart strangely light despite their harsh words. I couldn't really blame them—any normal person would think Josh was unstable. After all, at the age of eighteen, he had killed his own mother.

I knew a little about what happened. His mother had been unfaithful, openly bringing her lover home. When Josh walked in on them, everything erupted into chaos and in the heat of the argument, he killed her. The courts had taken his age and circumstances into account, sending him to a mental hospital instead of prison.

In the first year of our marriage, I had brought Josh to my family's home for the New Year holiday. We'd had a wonderful dinner—until something inside him snapped. Without warning, he picked up a hammer from the table and struck my dad down. Blood splattered across the white tablecloth, staining the festive lights that hung above us.

He was sent back to the mental hospital after that, where he behaved exceptionally well. Not a single violent outburst in six months. His psychiatrist noted his remarkable progress and I pulled some strings to have him reevaluated. He was eventually cleared for release.

The next year, during New Year's Eve, my mom came to stay with us. This time, it was her turn. Josh snapped again. I still remember the sound of her screams, how abruptly they had stopped.

After nearly a year of reevaluation and observation, the psychiatrist concluded once more that he had improved. He was allowed to come home. I trusted their professional judgment, but no one else did. My relatives whispered behind my back. Neighbors crossed the street when they saw us. None of it mattered to me.

With New Year's approaching again, I wanted everything to be perfect. I bought new clothes for Josh—a soft, navy sweater and a pair of well-fitted jeans. He looked radiant when he tried them on and I took him for a fresh haircut afterward. He smiled at his reflection, looking almost like a normal man.

That night, as we lay in bed, Josh hugged me from behind. His arms were warm, his breath soft against my neck. For a moment, it felt almost like any other marriage, except for the dark truth lurking beneath the surface.

I gently pushed him away, murmuring, "It's that time of the month. Maybe in a few days."

Josh didn't complain. He simply nodded and pulled me close again, holding me as we drifted off to sleep. Looking at his peaceful expression, no one would ever think him capable of such madness.

But I knew better. I smirked to myself in the dark, my heart brimming with a cold, strange anticipation.

The next morning, Rosa, our neighbor, dropped by unannounced. She had been Josh's childhood sweetheart once, long before his life spiraled into chaos.

"Josh, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as if she had been waiting for this moment.

Josh didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and embraced her tightly, a bright smile on his face. "I thought about you during my treatment. You were my reason to get well."

Rosa blushed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought about you too."

I stayed inside, sitting cross-legged on the floor with my daughter, her giggles filling the room as I stacked wooden blocks for her to knock over. I didn't bother to intervene in their chatter. They sat in the living room, eating fruit and laughing like a pair of carefree lovers, oblivious to the dark shadow that hung over our home.

"Catherine, could you wash a few more apples? Rosa loves them."

Josh's voice was calm, almost affectionate, as if he hadn't just treated me like a maid. I sneered inwardly. He really knew how to act like a king now that he was back, as if the past two years didn't happen—as if I hadn't managed all the expenses and raised our daughter alone while he stayed in the institution.

"Sure, right away!" I replied with detached cheerfulness, leaving Mia, my daughter, to play on her own. The little girl giggled and hopped on her feet, her small steps pattering across the wooden floor. She skipped over to Rosa in the living room.

"Auntie Rosa!" Mia squealed, throwing her arms around Rosa's neck.

Rosa beamed, catching her effortlessly and planting a kiss on her cheek. "Mia, I have a gift for you—a pretty hairpin. Do you like it?"

My daughter's eyes lit up as Rosa pulled out a delicate pink hairpin shaped like a butterfly. "I love it!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

Josh leaned over and affectionately patted Mia's head, his expression unusually tender. Watching them, I felt an odd pang in my chest. They looked like a perfect little family—so warm, so cozy.

I turned back to the sink, the cold water running over my hands as I washed the apples. The bright red skin of the fruit gleamed under the light, but the chill water pricked my skin, grounding me. When I finally finished, I turned around to find Rosa standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her face soft with sympathy.

"Catherine, thank you so much. You've been really patient with Josh," she said gently.

I blinked, as if thrown off by her words. "What do you mean?" I asked, my tone even.

Rosa stepped closer, folding her hands nervously. "Josh hasn't been his best self these past two years and... well, you've lost your family. I really feel for you."

I forced a faint smile and handed her the washed apples, careful not to show any reaction. "It's nothing. Thank you for helping me take care of Mia. It's a relief knowing I can focus on work without worrying."

Rosa returned my smile, her eyes softening. "She's like a daughter to me. I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you. Mia's lucky to have someone like you around." I paused for a moment before adding, "It would be even better if she officially recognized you as her godmother."

Rosa's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Are you serious?"

"Of course. Mia seems to really like you, too."

Just then, Josh appeared in the doorway, carrying Mia in his arms. "Go on, call her Mommy," he said with a grin, his tone playful but pointed.

Ignoring me completely, Mia wriggled out of his arms and ran straight to Rosa, hugging her tightly. "Mommy Rosa! I really like you! More than Mommy Catherine!"

Josh laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "You naughty girl, your mom's going to get jealous."

I waved it off with a generous smile. "It's fine. She's just a kid."

Rosa hugged Mia tightly, her eyes glistening with emotion. "Good girl, my good girl," she murmured, her voice trembling as tears welled up.

Josh reached up to wipe his eyes, pretending it didn't affect him as much as it did. I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter, watching the touching scene unfold before me. It was sweet, wasn't it? Heartwarming, even. But I knew better. This wouldn't last.

***

On New Year's Eve, the apartment buzzed with activity. The aroma of roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the scent of spices and freshly baked bread. I bustled around the kitchen, carefully arranging dishes on the dining table. Every plate gleamed, every glass sparkled under the warm glow of the lights above.

"Josh," I called out from the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup, "I heard Rosa's divorced now and living alone. She must be so lonely. Why not invite her to dinner with us? After all, she's Mia's godmother now—part of the family. Let's all celebrate together."

Josh's face lit up with joy. He hurried over and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug, but I gently pushed him away. "I'm sweating a lot. Just go invite her," I said, smiling lightly.

Later, Rosa arrived, carrying a bottle of wine and a platter of bacon-wrapped scallops. She looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the cold outside. I welcomed her warmly, pouring drinks for everyone as we gathered around the table for a lively dinner.

"Rosa, I really thank you on Josh's behalf!" I said, raising my glass in a toast. "You're the only one who doesn't hold his mental health issues against him. You're his truest friend."

Rosa's eyes softened as she gazed at Josh, emotion flickering in her expression. "We grew up together. Josh is a kind and brave person. He's not a bad man. Those things in the past were all misunderstandings. If you don't mind them, how could I?"

I smiled and poured her another glass of wine. The evening passed in a blur of laughter, clinking glasses and shared memories. After dinner, I cut up some fruit for everyone, then took Mia for a bath while Josh and Rosa cleaned up.

When I returned, I found Mia tugging on Josh's hand, her eyes bright with excitement. "Daddy, play with me!" she demanded, pulling him toward the living room.

Josh chuckled and followed her, Rosa close behind. They quickly settled into a game of hide-and-seek, their laughter echoing through the apartment. I leaned against the doorway, watching them with a faint smile.

Suddenly, Josh froze mid-step. His eyes widened unnaturally and thin, bloodshot veins crept across the whites of his eyes. His face contorted, twisting into something almost unrecognizable. Without warning, he grabbed Mia's arm tightly.

"Daddy, you're hurting me!" Mia cried, struggling against his grip.

Josh shoved her aside, his hand trembling as he reached for the fruit knife lying on the table.

"No!" Rosa's scream pierced the air, raw with terror.

A heavy thud echoed through the apartment, sharp and jarring. I rushed out from where I stood, heart pounding.

In the middle of the living room, Mia lay motionless on the floor, her tiny body sprawled in an unnatural angle. A fruit knife was embedded in her chest, its hilt glistening under the harsh light. Crimson blood pooled beneath her, its metallic tang filling the air.

My breath hitched in my throat. I froze, as if hadn't fully registered the sight before me.

Rosa stood nearby, rooted in place, her face pale as death. Her eyes widened in horror, hands clutching her mouth as if to stifle a scream. She didn't move, didn't even blink. Josh, standing over the body, panted heavily, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Slowly, his ragged breathing steadied and the wild look in his eyes faded into terror, as though he had already processed what had happened.

A strangled cry escaped Rosa's lips. She clutched her head, hair falling wildly over her face, before collapsing beside Mia's lifeless form. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, but she dared not touch the knife lodged in the little girl's chest.

"No... no, no, no!" Rosa's voice cracked, shattering into hysterical sobs. She wrapped her arms around Mia's limp body, rocking back and forth, her tears falling freely onto the child's blood-streaked face.

I stumbled back, gripping the doorframe for support. My mind was blank, an odd numbness settling over me. Slowly, I fumbled for my phone, fingers clumsy as I dialed the emergency number. My voice, eerily steady, gave the necessary details: an accident, a child's death, a request for immediate police and medical assistance.

The rest blurred into a surreal haze. The police arrived. Officers in dark uniforms moved with mechanical efficiency, taking Josh away in handcuffs. I watched impassively as they led him out the door, his expression unreadable. The paramedics confirmed what we already knew—Mia was gone.

***

The funeral was a solemn affair. The gray sky above seemed fitting, heavy clouds casting a cold, muted light over the gathering. Rows of black-clad figures stood in silence, the wind tugging at their coats and scarves. I stood apart from the crowd, hands folded neatly in front of me, my face devoid of tears.

Rosa, on the other hand, was a mess. Her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs as she clung to the coffin, her grief raw and unrelenting. Those who didn't know would find it strange that she mourned more deeply than I, Mia's own mother.

Whispers rippled through the crowd, the low murmur of judgmental voices blending with the wind.

"What were you thinking? Everyone knows Josh is dangerous. Why did you let him back into your life?" my uncle spat, his voice thick with disgust.

"You brought this on yourself," another added coldly.

"Stop it," a woman whispered sharply. "Don't you think she's suffering enough already? It's her daughter and her husband—she's lost both."

But the accusations continued.

"She deserved it, being so blind to the truth," my aunt muttered, loud enough for me to hear.

I said nothing. The numbness persisted, an invisible barrier shielding me from their words. But Rosa's breakdown reached a fever pitch.

Suddenly, she staggered toward me, her eyes wild and brimming with fury. Before I could react, she grabbed my shoulders and shook me violently. "Give me back my daughter! Give her back!" she screamed, her voice shrilled with anguish.

I wrenched myself free, shoving her back. My voice was cold, controlled. "What nonsense are you spouting? She was my daughter!"

Rosa's sobs intensified, her entire frame trembling. "You let her call me mommy... and now she's dead! If I had known..." She broke into hysterical wails, her words barely coherent through her sobbing. "She was my daughter! I'm her real mother!"

Her outburst stunned the crowd into silence. All eyes turned toward her, disbelief mingling with confusion.

I stared at her, my expression icy. "I think you're losing your mind too. You should see a doctor." My voice was devoid of emotion, as if speaking to a stranger.

Several relatives rushed forward to restrain Rosa, pulling her back before she could lunge at me again. "That's enough! You should rest," one of them snapped.

But Rosa shoved them away, her breath ragged as she glared at me. "I'm telling the truth! Mia's my daughter!"

A cold silence descended over the group. Her words hung in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore.

"When you gave birth, I was in the same hospital, delivering a child," she continued, her voice breaking. "You gave birth to a son, but he stayed in the womb too long and suffocated. He was stillborn. The child you brought home was mine!"

The revelation hit others like a thunderclap though it was something I already knew. I staggered back, feigning shock, my legs giving way as I collapsed onto the cold ground. My hands trembled as I clutched my chest, forcing tears to well up in my eyes. "Why... why would you do that?" I whispered hoarsely.

Rosa's face contorted with hatred. "Because you would've been devastated without a child! Josh told me to give mine to you."

I stifled a frown. The damned bitch was still trying to paint herself as the innocent. But before I could speak, a loud voice cut through the tension.

"That's bullshit!"

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice. A man strode in, his expression dark with anger—Rosa's ex-husband.

"She cheated on me during our marriage and got pregnant! She was afraid I'd find out, so Josh took the baby and gave it to you to raise." His voice was steady, each word laced with bitterness.

Rosa's face turned deathly pale, her lips parting in shock, but no words came out.

Her ex-husband's voice grew sharper. "I was away on business most of the time. When I returned, I began to notice things. Rosa had an affair with Josh. When she got pregnant, I realized the dates didn't match. The child wasn't mine and that was why I divorced her."

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "On the day you gave birth, Rosa also had a C-section. Your son was stillborn and Josh swapped him with Rosa's baby, pretending it was yours."

Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the crowd. Rosa swayed on her feet, unable to respond, her lie unraveling before everyone's eyes.

The truth was out. To complete my act, I buried my face in my hands, letting out soft sobs. My aunt, furious, stepped forward and slapped Rosa hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed through the cold air.

"You damned woman!" my aunt spat. "Seducing another woman's husband and letting her raise your child for free? You're absolutely vile!"