Her hands trembled. The child—her niece—had often stayed at their home. She remembered the little girl
once waking up crying, but dismissing it as a nightmare.
Maria confronted him. He denied it, then got aggressive.
That’s when something in her snapped.
Rage. Betrayal. Grief. A scream pierced the quiet night as she grabbed the nearest kitchen knife.
By the time police arrived, it was too late. He lay lifeless,
and Maria sat on the floor,
covered in blood, rocking back and forth, repeating,
“She’s just a child. She’s just a child…”
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