June had just finished preparing dinner and was carefully carrying the bowls to the table, where the rest of the family sat waiting in silence. The room was tense, heavy with unspoken words, as if everyone was holding their breath.
But just as June approached the table, her hands faltered, a sudden weakness overtaking her. The bowl slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor with a loud shatter.
The sound startled everyone, their heads whipping toward her in unison. Yet before anyone could react, June fell to her knees, her entire body trembling as she broke into heart-wrenching sobs.
"H-how could he?" she cried, her voice raw and shaking. "What could we have done to deserve this?" Her sobs grew louder as she held up her hand, pointing at the stump where her pinky finger used to be. The bandage was wrapped tightly around it, but the phantom pain lingered, sharp and relentless. The memory of that night, of the men and their cold blades, was still fresh in her mind.
