The knife stopped one centimeter away from Song Rui.

Zhou Yan grabbed my hands.

I seemed to hear Zhou Yan sigh softly.

My hands suddenly hurt a bit.

By the time I realized it, the knife was already in Zhou Yan's hands.

I smelled an unpleasant odor in the air, so strong it even masked the scent of blood.

Song Rui had wet his pants in fear.

Song Rui constantly refreshed my perception of him; I could hardly remember why I married such a person in the first place.

Song Rui, trembling, pulled out his wallet from his pocket and desperately tried to shove it into Zhou Yan's hand.

His bleeding mouth was making incomprehensible sounds.

Zhou Yan lifted the knife and brought it down.

Song Rui's wallet and both of his hands rolled to the ground.

The hand holding the wallet rolled to a stop near my feet.

This time, I neither panicked nor flinched.

I let the blood from the severed hand stain my shoes and socks.

With his tongue gone and his hands severed, Song Rui could only whimper, his voice muffled by blood.

There was no warmth in Zhou Yan's eyes as he mercilessly brought the knife down on Song Rui's legs.

I watched indifferently as Song Rui's legless body fell forward.

Blood flowed freely, painting everything in red, and my feet were soaked in it.

The sight of the blood reawakened the images buried deep in my brain.

During my pregnancy, Song Rui hit me, kicked me in the stomach, and I lost my child, lying in a pool of blood.

When I woke up, the smell of disinfectant surrounded me.

My colleague told me that it was fine not to have children, that I could enjoy life on my own.

Yes, my child was never born, and I never became a mother.

My son was just a hallucination caused by my mental illness.

At this moment, all the memories I had lost began to slowly revive and restore.