She couldn't get that horrible picture out of her head. It burrowed in deep and no amount of rubbing her eyes would release it. Like a grit of sand, it was dry, scratchy and made her eye twitch in the days that followed.
The twitch of memory nearly drove her insane.
The image was burned into her retinas. The twitch worsened until her eye bled, blistered and eventually burst.
Pus and blood poured from her eye, slid down her face, filled her mouth with acidic taste of fear, loathing and bitterness - a molotov cocktail of despair.
The weight of it was too much to bear. She put her head down on the kitchen table. Like a 3D printer, the image slid from her eye and landed on the table beside her blood stained cheek.
Her husband's closed eyes, head thrown back, his hands buried in another woman's hair. The woman bent forward the long line of her bare back curving round over his lap and between his legs. The wife's reflection in the mirror across from the occupied marriage bed. A glint of silver from the knife in her hand.