I swallowed.
“So every time I look at you...”
My hand trembled as I pointed at his face.
“I see the piece you lost.”
“A part of you gone forever.”
“Just like a part of me is gone.”
“Just like our baby never breathed because of what you did.”
The words broke me all over again.
Silence swallowed the room.
Then —
He moved.
Fast.
Not hesitant.
Not theatrical.
The dagger flashed.
But instead of aiming for a dramatic mutilation —
He turned it toward the side of his face — and drove the blade hard into the flesh just below his right eye.
Not a precise surgical strike.
Not a calculated removal.
But a violent self-inflicted wound.
The sound of steel cutting through skin and muscle ripped through the air.
He grunted — a guttural, animal sound.
His body jerked.
Blood erupted immediately, pouring down his cheek in thick streams.
He pulled the blade free.
Then — without hesitation — he drove it again.
Deeper.
Not aiming to preserve.
Not aiming to survive unscarred.
But to destroy what I asked for.
