Everyone attended your funeral.

 

From those close to you – your parents, siblings, relatives, and best friend – to individuals you may have had minimal acquaintances with, such as colleagues and neighbors.

 

Everyone was present.

 

Tears flowed from everyone's eyes, for your departure inflicted a common pain.

 

They used the same words to describe you:

A good, 

humble, 

sweet,

beautiful 

person.

 

Each one pledged to miss you.

 

But among them, did anyone truly understand you better than I did? You married me when you were merely 19, while I was 25. We remained united for a remarkable 16 years, closing in on the time you spent with your parents a mere three years later. Despite the chronological intricacies, it was undeniable that I understood you the most, uncontested by any dispute.

 

So when they offered their condolences to me, some real and some utterly fake, no one truly understood the inner turmoil I was experiencing.

 

No one bothered to inquire about the reason behind your death. Most assumed it was a natural death, considering your struggles with mental health over the last six years.

 

They thought you had succumbed to grief and mental illness.

 

But the reality is something nobody could have imagined...

 

I killed you.

 

Yes, the very person who was supposed to protect you, the person who was supposed to love and care for you the most.

 

And I DID love you.

I DID care for you.

 

But I had reached a breaking point with your mental instability.

 

It seemed you had completely forgotten about me

You no longer loved me; you consistently showed disdain.

 

Whenever the opportunity arose, you would attack me with the same knife you used to cut vegetables and meat to cook delicious food for me.

 

I tried endless methods to treat you, but it appeared that you had no interest in seeking treatment.

 

Or perhaps, you were feigning your illness? Maybe it was a ploy to avoid punishment; you may have believed that if you managed to harm me, no one would hold you accountable due to the perception of your mental instability.

 

Maybe.

 

But why would you want to harm me?

 

Because you believed I was responsible for ending the life of our unborn child.

 

You would scream at me every now and then saying, "You devil! You killed my child!"

 

And chase me around the house with that knife.

 

Everyone told me to leave you at a mental asylum, even your birth parents.

 

But I didn't.

 

Because I felt guilty.

 

Because you were correct.

 

I did kill our unborn child.

 

However, no one believed you, primarily due to the assumption that your mental condition was the driving factor.

 

As for why I decided to be the murderer of my own child, it was due to something the doctor revealed during the ultrasound,

 

An Information shared with me alone.

 

Because he couldn't bear to tell you the news.

 

Our unborn child had autism.

 

Our first child, yet to be born, was on the autism spectrum.

 

How could I let that child come to earth?

 

 

My income was only at a moderate level, which would have been far from sufficient to provide support for an autistic child in any aspect.

 

Our child might have faced ridicule from others, and we would have grappled with sadness, lacking the opportunity for a peaceful life.

 

So I decided to spare our child from the potential pain of existence in this cruel world, hoping to have another child with you who would be normal and lead a typical and content life in our home. However, when the car accident (which was originally caused by me) claimed the life of our 5-month-old child, you spiraled into a frenzy.

 

I could see in your eyes that day that you would never love me again. After enduring your mental instability for six long years, I had reached my limit of patience.

 

So yesterday, at exactly 6:10 pm, I had mixed 5 sleeping pills in your food, and you slept like a baby after that.

 

And exactly 1 hour later, I killed you.

 

With that very knife that you used to attack me.

 

6 years ago, at exactly 8:10 pm, I had caused the accident to kill our child.

 

So that mother and daughter would have the exact time of departure from the world.

 

I am quite creative, right?

 

As I reached our house after burying you, I was finally alone.

 

I would sleep peacefully tonight, without having to worry that you might bang on my door like a freak and tell me to come out so you could kill me.

 

Finally, the house was quiet.

 

I took a hot shower after a long while and dressed in the shirt you had gifted me when you still loved me.

 

I pulled off the curtains and hopped on our bed.

 

I won't lie that I missed you, but I missed you even when you were alive because you had lost yourself a long time ago.

 

The blind love for your child made you blind to my love.

 

Okay, it's 8:02 pm, and after 8 minutes, it would be officially 24 hours of your death.

 

I lay on the pillow and stared at the clock, waiting for the revelation to come to me.

 

The clock was black colored, while its hands were white.

 

But slowly, they were turning red.

 

Was I imagining things?

I rubbed my eyes and tried to see clearly

And...

The red was spreading.

 

Like blood dripping.

 

Or was it real blood?

 

No no, I must be hallucinating because of extreme stress.

 

And I did see blood only 24 hours ago.

 

But the crimson liquid continued to ooze from the clock onto the wall...

 

and slowly spread across the floor.

 

My heart raced as I sat up in bed, horrified by the scene in front of me.

 

As if the scene in front of me wasn't horrifying enough, I felt a small, moist hand on my shoulder, far too tiny to belong to an adult.

 

It was like a baby's hand.

 

Turning slowly, I was met with two small, beady eyes. Then I saw a round baby face, which was smeared with blood.

 

Somehow, I recognized her...

my daughter.

 

I touched her hand to my cheek, getting blood on my face in the process.

 

"My daughter..." I whispered.

 

She smiled, but her smile was far from innocent or pretty like other infants.

It was inhuman.

Creepy.

Terrifying.

 

I couldn't help but smile back at her.

 

She moved her hand from my cheek to my throat, flashing a toothless, unsettling grin that sent a chilling wave of fear down my spine.

 

The last thing our house's walls heard was my blood-curdling scream.

08:10 || Natasha Binte Sarah

I am Sarah, a book and K-drama enthusiast. I write only to escape reality. Listening to music is my other hobby.