Her scream was muffled by the gloved hand.
“Shut up, bitch!” he hissed at her.
Crying, she tried to shove at him, but he didn’t even seem to notice, let alone care.
Then she saw the knife. He lifted it high up, before slicing it downwards, and she screamed into his hand as the searing pain hit her.
Then she woke up, gasping for air.
“Are you okay, darling?” a tired, but concerned voice asked next to her.
She looked to the side, seeing the face of the man who’d tried to murder her.
“Just a bad dream, sweetheart,” she told him. “Nothing to worry about.”
Except that her husband kept killing her, night after night, and perhaps that was something to worry about.