Disclaimer- please read before continuing with the story or commenting.

The following chapters will deal with extreme themes of abuse and gore. The graphic depictions of these topics can be triggering to some. You have been warned. Any comments criticizing how the main character's behavior in response to the traumatic situations in this book will be deleted. Abuse tactics like manipulation, isolation, gas lighting, etc. can warp an individual's brain and make them believe that they are the problem, only their abuser will love them, and other 'irrational' thoughts. Those who say, "Why do you just leave the relationship or runaway?" have clearly never experienced abuse. So please be mature when continuing to read this book.

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Fog covered the glass window. (y/n) would watch the condensation fade and then she'd blow another hot breath against the glass. Only to watch the fog retreat again.

It was the first snowfall of the season. Flake by flake she watched the snow pile up.

Two months have past since she sent in the swab. She hasn't gotten a call with the results yet. She thought to call the lab after the first week past but dreaded to hear an answer she didn't want. (y/n) found her self picking at the dry skin on her lips till it tasted raw. A habit Hannibal helped her quit. But Hannibal isn't here. In fact it feels like Hannibal has been distant the past months.

Did he know?

She dug too deep at the skin. Blood began to pool below her lip.

No. If Hannibal knew he would have spoken to her. Hannibal would have said something to her if he knew what she did.

She wasn't much better than Hannibal. She forced herself to smile around him, pretended like everything is normal. The chance of what Will claimed for 2 years could be true loomed over her head nonstop.

A droplet broke from the pool and left a red streak down her chin. the drop of blood fell onto her stomach.

The anxiety of not knowing was worse than knowing. She decided to call the lab and get the results.

Hannibal drove home through the snowfall. He watched as the flakes shimmered when they fell in front of the headlights.

The sound of the windshield wipers droned on in the background as Hannibal thought of (y/n). She loss some weight. She's suppose to be gaining but in the past months she barely eats. He knows it's because she is catching onto what he has been feeding her.

In a way Hannibal was relived. He was tired of lying to her. He wanted her to know the real him. She's seen peaks of it behind the curtains when Hannibal rarely talked about his childhood and past. But small glances was all she saw of the monster he is. He was terrified of what she would do when the curtains dropped.

The dread piled on like the snow on the road. Would she leave him? What if she's already gone? What if he opens the door to their home and all her things are gone?

He was disgusted with himself it was the first time he felt as helpless as he was when he was six. When he watched his mother and father die. But the pain and helplessness of their death was nothing compared to what his sister's brought.

He pressed on the gas harder.

The sadness and fear left an aftertaste of rage. He let himself get close to (y/n). He let himself love her. But it's all going to disappear. He needed her. He needed her to need him. She gave him purpose.

As the snow fall thicken the patter of snowflakes on the car roof turned into soft thuds.

A sickening dread crept inside his stomach. Something was wrong, he knew it.

When he parked in the driveway he didn't bother to turn his car off. He ran inside the house. The instant smell of metallic blood shot him when he stepped pass the doorway. He shouted her name and ran from room to room. He noticed the home phone laid on the floor.

He froze when he saw a stream of light coming from under the bathroom door. Hannibal slammed the door open.

What he saw was worse than watching his parents get slaughtered. It was worse than watching his captors eat the flesh of his four year old sister.

(y/n), on the floor with her legs open. Wearing nothing but a blood smeared shirt. She used one hand to hold her leg open and the other to shove a bended coat hanger inside her. Hannibal couldn't tell if there were more blood than tears that covered the floor. Chunks of blood clots and tissue fell out of her. (y/n)'s face contorted as she wailed and stabbed the hanger at her cervix.

She finally saw the real Hannibal. The Hannibal that kills mercilessly. The Hannibal that sent innocent man to jail for crimes he committed. And the Hannibal that has been feeding her the meat of corpses. She couldn't have a child with him. Will was right. Hannibal is a psychopath. She couldn't subject her child to Hannibal's torture. So she told herself, but deep down she was scared that the child would turn out like it's father.

She could feel every time the coat hanger stabbed through her and scraped against bone. She felt everything. She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe this was just a bad dream? Maybe she'll wake up any minute now?

Hannibal ripped the hanger from her clutch. (y/n) shut her legs and tried to push him away. Hannibal flung her legs open followed by his hands digging inside her to assess the damage. She screamed.

His experience as a surgeon took over.

The uterine walls were too damaged to repair. She had to give birth, now.

Hannibal ran downstairs to get the sharpest kitchen knife he had, thread, a needle, and towels. Also grabbed an IV tube and needle as well as pints of blood he kept for cooking. When he got back to his wife she was trying to crawl out of the bathroom. A thick trail of blood marked her path to the door.

He didn't have enough time to administer painkillers, by the time they would kick in it'd be too late. Hannibal stabbed the IV in her arm and hooked it up to a blood bag. He cut a straight line below her bellybutton. He dug inside her uterus and felt for the baby. When he got a good sense of the placement of the child he pulled it out by the shoulders.

The baby was frail and covered in blood and patches of a white membrane. It's cries blended with (y/n)'s. She was sobbing from the pain. He placed the baby on the towel and scooped out the afterbirth. Blood coated his clothing and face.

Her uterus was destroyed. Hannibal had to remove it. She was losing more blood than she was getting. He replaced the empty bag with a new one. His disheveled hair blocked his view he used his bloody hand to push it back. He alternated from bloody scissors, a knife, and a needle in-between his teeth as he cut, snipped, and stitched.

(y/n)'s screams filled every crevice of the house. Hannibal didn't have time to realize how shattered his heart was.

Eventually (y/n) passed out from the pain. Hannibal was able to close her wound. He washed the blood from her limp body with a wet cloth. The baby's cries could still be heard. He ignored it.

When he finished cleaning his wife he laid her on the bed. He stood over the child. He stared at it with a dead expression.

He didn't want the child if (y/n) didn't make it. It would just be a bitter reminder of her death.

Hannibal laid on the bed next to her. He caressed her unconscious face. Tears fell down his cheeks. He pulled her closer to him.

He whispered, "I'm sorry."

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