SCARLETT
Why would he stab himself?
The question repeated in my mind like a haunting echo, too surreal to believe. My body trembled uncontrollably as I lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, my heart pounding in my ears like a war drum. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I forced myself to turn my head—my throat burning as I screamed.
“Zayden! Call the ambulance—now!”
Zayden's face was ghostly pale, his mouth open, frozen in pure disbelief. His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, fumbling with the screen, fingers slick with sweat—or maybe it was blood. My husband’s blood.
Within minutes, though it felt like hours, the shrill wail of sirens tore through the silence. Paramedics stormed in, pushing us aside as they fought to stabilize Vincent. I sat there numb, on the st
