Everyone reaches a breaking point eventually. Women, often perceived as inherently compassionate and understanding, are perhaps more subtly susceptible. It's a tragic irony, considering the profound experiences they endure.

Consider the unique burden a woman carries – the tiny, parasitic life growing within her, culminating in the excruciating pain of childbirth. Have you ever truly comprehended the agony of labor?

Perhaps, let's rewind slightly. A woman's menstrual cycle can be a monthly ordeal, ranging from manageable discomfort to debilitating pain. The cramps can be so intense they could bring a grown man to his knees, and that's before the contractions even begin.

Then, imagine the utter devastation of giving birth, nurturing that child, only to watch it die before your very eyes. Not from a natural cause, a childhood illness, or an accident, but deliberately, violently killed.

Picture this specific tragedy: you had only one child, the one you longed for and anticipated, and it is murdered by the person closest to you.

The man who shared your bed, your life. The searing pain radiates from your heart, constricting your stomach, blurring your vision, culminating in a primal, banshee-like wail. The mournful cry of a mother who has lost her child, ripped from her arms.

Now, imagine the glacial pace of the legal system. You are assured that justice will be served. He is arrested, processed, and even in this state, is afforded basic human rights.

Food, shelter, clothing. These necessities are provided, and you are expected to accept this. Why?

Why not dwell on the raw, visceral pain you feel, the utter unfairness of it all? Your child is gone, reduced to fleeting memories, a collection of photographs gathering dust on a shelf. Worse still, what if you are left with the permanent scars of pregnancy – stretch marks and loose skin that no amount of cream or exercise can erase?

They are a constant, unwelcome reminder of what you had, a constant visual testament to the emptiness that remains.

Every day, you are confronted with the injustice, especially when you see the child of the one who caused you this harm thriving, growing, experiencing milestones your own child will never reach.

One is expected to understand, to wallow in grief and sorrow, to find solace in the fact that the perpetrator is "paying their debt to society," even though their incarceration is temporary. What happens when they are released?

Eventually, you begin to rebuild your life, learning to live with the gaping hole in your heart, moving on as best you can. But then, you see them. Happy, laughing, surrounded by their family.

Worse still, the father of your child is smiling, embracing them, a picture of domestic bliss. How can anyone be expected to maintain composure after that? Numbness washes over you, and you walk away, lost in a labyrinth of thought.

Alone in the quiet of your home, you replay the events, the memories colliding like atoms in a nuclear reactor. Then, something snaps. You just…crack.

Why didn't you act sooner? Why did you allow so much time to pass? The enemy was too strong, or perhaps you were too weak, paralyzed by grief, unable to avenge your own flesh and blood, the child you carried for nine months!

A hollow, broken laugh escapes your lips, laced with despair. You were so law-abiding, so compliant, while the man who was once yours now shares his life, his bed, with the enemy.

It takes months of planning, meticulous preparation. But one night, under the cloak of darkness, you enter their home. You first approach the two figures sleeping soundly in their bed. You produce a paper bag from your pocket and place it over his head. As he struggles, gasping for air, you turn to watch her, slowly awakening, her eyes widening in terror as she understands what is happening. Could you possibly be rational at that moment?

Yes, an eerie calm descends, the eye of the storm. As your betrayer takes his last, desperate breaths, you turn and walk calmly towards the door.

A chilling smile spreads across your face, a fleeting moment of satisfaction. You turn to leave, but then you see the little thing standing in the hallway, its eyes wide with fear and confusion.

What then?