(The events unfolded in a manner such as this:
The birth of my first child [bad word] in the delivery room. The doctors panicking and arguing loudly, I was shuffled out into the waiting room while the chaos and confusion continued behind closed doors I heard my wife’s screams finally stop, I assume from the administration of some type of anesthetic. I soon found that it was something far worse.) 

When the doctors came out they were visibly exhausted and shaken and stained red with spattered blood. The birth had killed my wife but the child had survived. I went into the room and saw the baby. I wasn’t allowed to hold it but I stood and looked at it through a haze of confusion and contempt. I took the child home and cared for it. Over time it began to crawl and then walk over time it grew teeth and bit me. I sat and watched him break every toy that I gave him to play with. I picked up the cat dead after he threw it down the stairs and broke its neck. I watched him and felt the resentment grow, seeing what was left in place of my wife. He was a thing as far removed from humanity as the most vile beast. The day came when I no longer was willing to accept him as my seed. I approached him sleeping in his bed and put a pillow over his face. There was no sadness in this. As he started to [bad word] for air I saw a flash of something and felt a warm stinging pain in my stomach. I let go of the pillow and saw the knife in my stomach. The blood spilled across the floor and I dropped to my knees. Then he came to finish me with the knife in his hand and murder in his eyes.