Spoiler
I don't normally write in first person, but I was advised to write this story that way. I've actually posted this story before but it was not in first person; I thought this would convey more emotion. Please tell me what I need to work on. Thanks for reading 
My hand twitched a little. This distracted me from my thoughts for a moment. I then realised that I had been sitting on a sofa in my living room for hours, thinking. The room was quiet and dreary. I pressed a random button on my phone to view the time. It was almost five in the evening. My husband would be home at any minute from work. It did not affect my mood though. I remained seated, staring emotionlessly at a painting on the wall.
I heard his car pulling into the driveway. Part of me was urging me to remain seated, for I had found comfort in just sitting and doing nothing but think. I was not done yet. I had to get up though. Walter expected me to be in the kitchen, holding his supper and awaiting his tall, dark figure, to walk through the kitchen door. After all, I was nothing but a housewife. My duty was to cook, clean and eat...he made that pretty clear, countless of times.
It seems like only a minute ago, when I met Walter. I thought I knew what love meant. He was such a gentleman. He loved me back, and treated me with respect, like...like I was the only woman to ever grace his world. He told me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world. He loved my daughter too. I never thought a man such as him existed. A man who could love another man’s child and treat her like a princess; give her a father figure.
When we got married, he promised to take care of us and he suggested I leave work to take on the full role as a mother for my daughter. She was five. I found him irresistible. His warm bearded face and his warm lips which seemed to produce only the right words just for me. I loved him.
That was ten years ago. Everything was routine now. He went to work and left me at home to attend to household matters. He barely looks at me, or holds me like he used to. That sparkle in his eyes that he used to have when he saw me, has faded. I am his maid. I cook, I clean and I eat. The only other things I do are to shop and to fetch my daughter from school if she needs me. The only ‘me time’ I have is going to church on Sundays. That’s if he allows me anyway. I don’t understand how things flipped over for the worst. I don’t understand how I fooled myself into marrying such a controlling monster. I should have seen the signs before hand; it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have left work when he asked me to. He met me when I was independent and a single mother. I should have kept the same persona, instead of weakening to his charm.
Just a few months ago, I discovered a chain of his mistresses. He told me his personal life did not concern me; that it did not matter what I thought because I was just an accessory. Accessories are there to decorate and remain quiet. He said that, right after bruising my cheek with a punch. I should have left him then but...where would I go? What would I give my daughter? I have after all been out of work for almost a decade. How would I maintain my child’s education, her private school with a low earning job? I had to think about it first; I had to stay.
I have sacrificed a lot my whole entire life, and the only thing I’ve hoped to come of it was liberty. I too had a stepfather. He was a strict man. He used to discipline me, every time he came back home from work provoked by something. When I was in my early teens, he molested me occasionally. I couldn’t tell my mother that...oh no. She treated him like God. She would have never believed me if I told her the truth. When I was eighteen, I left my mother and her husband to carry on with life as they wished.
That is not important anymore. That is my past. This morning though, my daughter dawned on me a truth I have let my thoughts fear to even think about. He has touched my own daughter. He has touched my dear little fifteen year old, right under my nose.
She said, “Every time you go to church on Sunday, since the beginning of last month, dad-, he’s been molesting me, ma.”
I did not need to hear anymore. I felt a strange numbness fill my whole body. I felt a ray of darkness, shadow the light in my thoughts. I let her go to school but my body felt like holding onto her tightly and never letting go of her. A smart woman would go to the police and report him, but then what? I was only good for being an obedient housewife. I tried turning to some of his prized alcohol, but I don’t drink. I feel absolutely disgusted; by myself. I was supposed to be protecting my own daughter...from the world, and he promised to help me. Then it hit me. If I suddenly died, my daughter would be left in his custody. He would be free to treat her like he wanted.
I watched his shadow closing in at the kitchen entrance and I swallowed hard. Walter walked in and dropped his suitcase on the floor like usual. He rubbed his hands together and started to talk.
“So, what will I be having today? Did you roast the chicken like I asked you to?” he said. He walked over to the fridge and opened a can of beer.
I remained quiet. My frail figure was resting on the counter, my mind drifting in between thoughts. My hair was tied up into a bun. He said he didn’t want hair dangling over his food when I was cooking.
He took a long sip from his beer. “Phew, it was really hot today, did you feel it? I hope it rains or something tomorrow becau-.”
I cut him short. “So that’s what our marriage has come to, talking about the weather. You walk in here and you don’t feel the urge to greet me or ask me how my day was. All you care about is your food.”
He chuckled. “Miriam, what’s the point of asking you about your day? You’re only going to tell me about ironing all day and cleaning the toilets. There are more pressing issues in the world like children starving in the streets that need more attention.” He took another sip of his drink and then placed the can on the counter next to me. “I’ll tell you one thing though, you really look like crap these days, and I thought I give you money to spend on yourself," he said, with a disgusted expression. "Why don’t you go to one of those women’s beauty shops and get yourself sorted. I don’t want my business partners to see you and wonder why my wife looks like crap." He paused, trying to get a reaction from me. "Throw that can away and bring me my roasted chicken, I’m starving.”
I took in deep consecutive breaths and screamed out my husband’s name. “Walter!”
He stopped and looked back at me. “What now? Are you insane Miriam, screaming out my name like that?”
My face welled up with hot tears. I made sure to keep a stern expression though. “You will never touch my daughter again, do you hear me?” My breathing rate increased. I felt the adrenalin kicking into my system. My hands were shaking; it was from the rage I felt. “My daughter told me everything and I want a divorce. I want a divorce and I want it now.”
He laughed hysterically. “You can be funny sometimes you know that? Miriam, you are an intelligent woman, and you and I both know you cannot divorce me. Where will you go? Now, bring me my food and I will take my seat, alright. Do what you are good at and stop all that nonsense.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, I will not allow it. I will allow it any longer. Not my daughter, not my innocent child!” I quickly wiped the free falling tears on my face.
“Miriam, I’m losing patience here.” He walked over towards where I was standing. “Where’s my food?”
“Why don’t you ask your mistresses where it is?”
Walter got closer, back slapped me so hard that I fell to the ground.
“Don’t ever give me that back talk again!”
I tasted blood. I got up feeling a bit dizzy. Either way, I charged towards Walter and slapped him back. He retaliated with a punch to my nose and began strangling me. My eyes grew wide as I struggled to leave his strong hold. Eventually he let go and spat on me.
“You like making me angry don’t you? I will kill you one day. Now, I won’t say this again, get me my food! I’m starting to lose my appetite.” He screamed. He was a little out of breath.
I picked myself from the ground after frantically coughing from being choked. “As you wish,” I said.
I walked over to the kitchen counter and opened a drawer and grabbed a carving knife for the chicken. I opened the microwave and took a tray with a roasted whole chicken. I walked to where Walter was sitting and placed it in front of him.
“Was that so hard? Now, carve me a piece.”
I got hold of the knife. Everything that happened after that happened without intension. I had not been thinking at all when I stuck the knife into Walter’s neck. I was also not thinking when I watched him slumping to the floor; and the floor suddenly spreading with blood. I was in another world, a world where reasoning dissolved and everything happened for the sole purpose of happening. A world where it felt good, watching my demon, losing life on the floor. A world here I was in control.
My daughter then walked into the kitchen. She was from school. She found her stepfather, who had bled to death, on the floor and me, her mother leaning against the counter, looking at Walter without any emotion.
I heard her scream. That was expected. I raised my eyes for a while and saw fear in her eyes, but I could not contemplate fear in mine. I was angry and vengeful. My eyes softly rested back onto my lifeless husband.
“Mom, what did you-?” she put her hand over her mouth. “Is he dead, he’s dead isn’t he?”
“Call the police,” I said without once taking her eyes away from the body.
“Mother,” she cried. Tears had already dressed her face.
“Diane, call the police...I am a murderer,” I said, choking on the tears I had tried so hard to bury. “It’s over, he can’t hurt you anymore.”
Diane shook her head in disbelief. “No, mom I will not let you go to prison for this man.”
“I killed him, there is no other way.” I was strangely calm.
Diane sat on the dining table next to his body and cried for a while. Tears were flowing from my eyes, but I insist, I felt no emotion or remorse. A little voice was screaming in my head, telling him to die.
“Yes, yes there is a way.” My daughter got up from her seat and leaned against a wall, her arms akimbo. Her voice was heavy, from oncoming crying. “I will- I will get a shovel,” she said. “The builders are coming tomorrow to lay the foundation of the new garage outside. That’s where we’ll bury him.”
My eyes shifted to my daughter’s. “Diane, wha-?”
“Don’t worry mom. Just-just get some cloth or whatever and wrap him up. We need to move,” she said while throwing paper towels over the blood on the floor. “We will be fine, I promise you. It’s my turn to protect you.”
I shifted my blank expression to my daughter’s idea. I still felt numb all over, but that would have to wait. “Okay," I said, "I will get a sheet from the guest bedroom.”
I liked it and don't think there is anything wrong with it at all, except one thing that struck a nerve with me, "...like I was the only woman to ever grace his world. He told me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world." I don't really know why, but it rubbed me the wrong way when you used world in both of those sentences. You don't have to change it if you don't want to, but I am sure there are a lot of words you can substitute world with. I'm sorry if I didn't hep at all but you did a great job, so there really isn't much to say.
I do want to talk about details. I didn't find any conflicting or obviously distracting details, but then I didn't find many of them at all. You're plot is solid and stands on its own, but I wanted a little more atmospheric description rather than plain exposition. I'll try and find some examples of places that could have used more detail: