A Short Story On Child Molestation | Rape | Abuse
I died a thousand deaths, watching him twitch and bleed out on the cold, tiled floor. The shattered fragments of the bed lamp gripped tightly in my hands dropped and clattered to the floor as Laila wailed in excruciating pain on the bed.
How could a father commit such Atrocity?
My heart burst into flames of pain when I took one look at the red-stained sheets my beautiful, innocent daughter was lying on, stripped to nothing, bared before the man who promised to love and protect her with his life while he committed such a monstrosity.
He twitched again, calling out my name. “Samira, help me,” he said, and I lost it.
Reaching down to grab a broken shard of glass, I walked dazed to his pleading side, barely able to form rational thoughts. How could he? What sort of monster did I bring into my daughter’s life.? Barely eight months old and already scarred for life.
He deserves to feel the same amount of pain she has felt. He deserves to rot in hell for this atrocity. Laila doesn’t deserve to know a father like him.
I didn’t know when I fell to my knees and plunged the glass deep into his chest, but I felt the salty tang of his blood splash on my lips. I tasted the essence of his life and raged, stabbing, until there wasn’t much of him left.
Wiping my tear-stricken face with bloodied hands, I crawled over to my wailing daughter, cradling her in one hand as I reached for my car keys with the other, cooing words of love from a broken heart.
“You’ll be fine, my love. He will never hurt you again,” I said, staining her cheeks as I stroked it, smiling amid my tears to ease her pain and singing her favorite lullaby.