Is DIY Placenta Art Safe To Create At Home?

I once toyed with a college boy. When he fell in love with me, I ended things. Years later, after he made something of himself, he married me in front of everyone who thought I was lucky to have him. My family had fallen from grace, and to the outside world, I had won the jackpot. What they never saw was what happened behind closed doors. Every night, he brought a different woman home. I never cried. I never made a scene. That only seemed to enrage him more. So he went further. He got his first love, Natalie, pregnant on purpose. When I still stayed calm, he pinned me against the wall and demanded, "Stella, do you even love me?" Later, Natalie and I went into labor on the same night. I dropped to my knees and finally admitted I loved him, begging him to take me to the hospital. He held me tight, almost giddy with satisfaction. "I knew it," he said. "You liar." Then he shoved me aside, picked Natalie up, and walked away without looking back. "I'll take you to the hospital later. The pain of childbirth can be your punishment."

My husband's beloved lover suffered from menstruation complications. A traveling doctor claimed that a fresh placenta was needed to cure her. His gaze fixated on my seven-months-pregnant baby bump. And thus, I was pinned down on the bed as they ripped the placenta from my body. My son was carelessly tossed aside. He didn't even get the chance to cry before his tiny body fell silent forever. My husband pinched his nose in disgust, frowning as he looked at me—bleeding out, feebly reaching for my child. “It’s just a premature baby. He'll be fine after a few days of care. Why are you making such a fuss? Sandra is waiting for her medicine." He left and locked the door behind him without looking back. He claimed it was a lesson I needed to learn. By the time he finally remembered us, my son and I had long since bled dry, our bodies cold and stiff.

My grandmother only knows how to draw one thing—infants. They're ugly, but people line up to buy the paintings. I watch as she takes those women into unlit rooms. Then, their bloodcurdling screams will ring out. Oddly enough, they always thank my grandmother when they're leaving. One day, I finally find out what exactly my grandmother paints. I discover the truth when I see an infant crawl out of one of the women's bellies—it looks just like the one my grandmother has painted.

Peggy Flannery, the new recruit who's being mentored by my husband, Eugene Shaw, insists on practicing how to carve words onto a patient's heart. It so happens that my mother-in-law has suffered from a sudden heart attack. So, I quickly take her to the hospital so that Eugene, who's also known as a genius surgeon, can save her life. Unbeknownst to me, Eugene is quick to entrust my mother-in-law to Peggy, who has barely joined the hospital for three days, so that she can practice her carving on her. Peggy is very careless with her strength. When she's in the middle of carving something onto my mother-in-law's heart, she accidentally punctures a heart valve, resulting in my mother-in-law's instant death. Once the death happens, Peggy wails to Eugene, "That hag is really frail and delicate! I'm not even done carving my name onto her heart! What should I do now?" Eugene wipes her tears away gently. There's heartbreak in his eyes as he says, "It's fine. No one will be able to bully you with me around." Once Eugene exits the operating theater, he declares that the surgery is a failure and that I should start preparing the funeral matters. Unable to accept reality, I grab him by the shoulders and keep questioning him. "Isn't this just a minimally invasive surgery? How did Mom die just like that? I want to see the surgical footage!" But Eugene responds by slapping me angrily. "Your mom is already old, to begin with! How dare you pin the blame on others when her frail and weak body is the main cause of her death! I haven't even begun to settle the score with you for giving Peggy such a huge fright! "Hurry up and sign the letter of forgiveness! If this incident does affect Peggy in any way, I'll file for a divorce right away!" Needless to say, I'm so furious that I can't even utter a single word after hearing Eugene's shameless words. Does he seriously think that my mother is the one who's dead? I merely chuckle icily in return. "Honestly speaking, you have more right to sign the letter of forgiveness than I do."

Six months into my pregnancy, I heard my baby's cry for help. 'Mommy, save me. Please, do the C-section early. I have a congenital breathing condition. If you don't get me out now, I'll suffocate.' I listened to my baby's desperate pleading, gritted my teeth, and agreed to an early cesarean. In the end, my daughter and I both died. Right before I went, I heard the doctor say, with real regret, that the baby had been perfectly healthy. There'd been nothing wrong with her at all. When I opened my eyes again, I was pregnant once more, and once again I heard my baby crying for help. Only this time, another voice answered—soft and sweet, like a much younger child. 'Mommy, don't believe that voice. They want you to deliver early so they can give my umbilical cord blood to his illegitimate son. That boy has a blood disease, and without cord blood this month, he'll die. That's the only reason that lowlife husband of yours is so desperate to rush you into labor.'

On the day of Zephyr’s art exhibition, I saw people stand around a portrait of myself. My cheeks were flushed, and I was bare. My posture was the one we used in bed last week for fun. Zephyr even got the mole on my chest right. As people stared at me mockingly, I demanded, “Why did you do this to me?” He was unbothered. “It’s not as if I asked you to sleep with someone else.” But he did let people see how I looked when I was having an intimate moment with my own boyfriend! “It’s just a painting. Why are you being so petty?” I was stunned by the mockery in Zephyr’s gaze. Then, I called my assistant. “I’m attending the international art festival as the organizer.”