My cousin lowered her gaze, and tears the size of pearls rolled down her face. “Mom, Kara keeps saying I’m a demon.”

A sharp pain pierced my chest. There she went again, putting on that same fake, delicate act again.

However, Mom always fell for it. Every time she did, I was the one who ended up getting scolded.

Wendy glanced at Mom's darkening expression, and a glint of satisfaction flickered in her eyes. She had long since replaced me, becoming the only daughter in Mom's heart.

Even the blood bond between Mom and me could be easily twisted apart by her.

One time, Wendy led me to my deranged admirer. She knew exactly what would happen to me, yet she did it anyway. Of course, she had nothing to fear. In Mom’s eyes, she was always an innocent, kind-hearted daughter.

The moment Wendy came into our home, I did not just lose Dad. I lost Mom as well.

Wendy bit her lower lip. Her face was deathly pale, pitiful enough to make anyone’s heart ache. “Mom, is it because I accidentally broke Kara’s doll that she still hates me?”

I stared at Mom’s face at the mention of the doll.

It was a fabric doll Dad, Mom, and I had made together when he was still alive.

However, Mom softened instantly when she looked at Wendy’s reddened nose and misty eyes. “Wendy, you didn’t mean to. It's Kara who’s being petty. I’ve already taught her a lesson. When she comes home, I’ll make her apologize to you. You can decide how she makes it up to you.”

Wendy understood Mom’s temper too well. She could easily stir her anger again with just a few words. “Mom, Kara isn’t the type to apologize easily. All these years, she hasn’t even said sorry to Uncle Damian.”

Mom’s breathing grew heavier. Her lips pressed into a tight line as anger flickered in her eyes.

The rage I had been holding back surged up inside me. That scheming woman still had the nerve to mention Dad!

After I rejected the deranged admirer, she even smiled and said to me, “Kara, I think you two are actually pretty compatible. Why don’t you just marry him?”

I wore a look of restrained anger. My tone was cold as ice. “If you’re so eager to get married, why don’t you accept his confession yourself?”

Wendy raised an eyebrow, flipped her curled hair over her shoulder, and sneered,

“Kara, stop pretending. You know exactly how much Mom hates you. If I were you, I would’ve been too ashamed to stay in this house a long time ago.”

Her father was an alcoholic who abused her mother. After her parents divorced, he took revenge by running her mother over with a car.

I had always felt there was something twisted about her, but she hid it well. She was jealous of my happy family and wanted to replace me, to become part of it herself.

She succeeded.

Mom, moved by her fragility and pitiful act, trusted and pitied her completely.

My gaze turned icy as I looked at her. “The blood ties between Mom and me can never be severed. You’re nothing but a pathetic clown.”

My words enraged her. She picked up scissors and began cutting the cotton doll—the one Dad, Mom, and I had made together. It was the last thing Dad had left me and the last remaining memory of our family.

My face flushed with anger. I grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it at her.

A surge of satisfaction rose in my chest when I saw the blood at her temple. All the years of humiliation and lies she had inflicted on me finally erupted.

However, a sudden force struck me. I was shoved down onto the shattered glass.

The palm of my hand was cut open, and blood would not stop flowing.

Mom’s voice, thick with anger, rang in my ears. “Kara, I knew it. You’ve always been cruel at heart!”

Mom still would not listen to a word I said. In her eyes, everything I did was wrong. It was just like how she was convinced I was constantly bullying Wendy, that poor, fragile girl.

However, even if I wanted to explain everything, to talk to her properly about all the years of pain and injustice, there was no way I could do it anymore.

I was already dead, killed by Wendy. Pain surged through me, and it felt as though my soul itself was being torn apart.

No matter how much Mom scolded me, I would not be able to answer her. I would no longer be able to quietly leave her gifts to try to fix our broken relationship. All I could do now was lie in the cold morgue, hoping that she would recognize my body and seek justice for me.

…

Just as Mom was about to open the fridge to cook, Officer Zane’s call pulled her back to the police station.

I wondered if she would blame me. After all, my death was ruining the time she could be spending with Wendy.

Officer Zane held up a transparent evidence bag and handed it to her. “Moira, this was found by forensics. There’s a receipt inside the victim’s coat pocket.”

The receipt was stained heavily with blood. Mom lifted it under the light and examined it carefully. Slowly, she read out the store name, “Ethera Boutique…”

A wave of bitter grief surged up my throat. I had gone there to get Mom's birthday gift.

Just then, her phone rang. A gentle female voice came through. “Hello, may I ask if you know Ms. Kara Summers?”

Mom clicked her tongue and answered impatiently, “Yes. Has she caused trouble again?”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, the voice hesitated. “She picked up the dress she ordered, but she left behind an accessory. We can’t reach her, and you're her listed emergency contact.”

Mom was confused and replied, “I’ll come by tomorrow. Can you give me the address…”

She wrote it down as she spoke.

Officer Zane’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Moira, that address matches the one on the receipt!”

Mom shrugged indifferently. “Probably just a popular shop. What is Kara even up to this time?”

However, Officer Zane shook his head. “You should call her. Check if she’s safe. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Mom frowned in annoyance. “Wesley, why are you so worried about her? Right now, identifying the victim is what matters most.”

She was so close to the truth yet still so far from me.

She was such an exceptional criminal psychologist. How could she so instinctively overlook the boutique? Perhaps it was because she had always hated everything connected to me.

On the back of the receipt, I had written the pickup date. Yet Mom could not recognize my handwriting.

Officer Zane asked her, “Can you infer the victim’s profile from the handwriting?”

Mom’s tone softened as she shifted into professional mode. “The victim likely has large eyes, a high nose bridge, and a slender build. Probably around 5'4". She comes from a good family. From the handwriting, she seems gentle and kind, yet emotionally suppressed. She lacks security and feels lonely.”

She paused for a moment. Was it because the reconstructed image of the victim looked like me?

She could analyze a victim's mind…

Yet, Mom had never once tried to understand what I was feeling.

It always felt like we were just a step away from each other. One step away from making things right, and one step away from her realizing the victim was me.

Officer Zane’s tone grew firmer. He was clearly dissatisfied with her attitude. “Moira, you fell seriously ill back then. Before you came back to work, Kara treated the entire task force to dinner just so they’d take care of you.”

Mom knitted her brows together in suspicion. “Wesley, don’t joke around. You don’t need to make things up just to speak well of Kara.”

“You keep saying she doesn’t care about you, but when you were hospitalized and unconscious last year, she was the one running herself to exhaustion, bringing you homemade meals every single day!” Officer Zane snapped in frustration.

A trace of self-mockery flickered in my eyes. All these years, everyone could see how much I cared about Mom. However, to her, I was nothing but cold and heartless.

Mom finally gave in under Officer Zane’s earnest persuasion.

Masking her irritation, she dialed my number. Still, all she got was the cold, mechanical voice repeating over and over that the phone was switched off.

Annoyance crossed her face as she muttered, “Not picking up my calls? Fine. It's better if you never contact me again. Honestly, I wish I had never had a daughter like you.”

Officer Zane brought Mom and the team to the boutique. A surge of excitement I could not suppress rose within me. The case was finally about to move forward!

As for Mom, I no longer expected her to react to my death at all.

The shop owner was an elegant middle-aged woman.

After hearing the police officers explain their purpose, she checked the records using the receipt.

“Oh, this one. That pretty girl ordered it. She said it was a birthday gift for her mother and even asked me to make sure the craftsmanship was extra fine.” The shop owner pulled up the surveillance footage. The video began to play.

Officer Zane stared at the screen in shock.

On it, I walked into the shop with a smile, chatting with the owner as we picked out styles for the dress.

The owner sighed. “You’re not here about that brutal murder case that’s been all over the news, are you? I remember this girl clearly. She was gentle and meticulous. She spent a long time choosing the perfect color for her mother. I can’t imagine how devastated her mom must be.”

Mom stood frozen, staring at the screen. The air seemed to freeze in place. The cicadas outside and the shop’s heavy silence blended into something eerily harmonious.

“Check again. How could it be her? Kara is probably off somewhere having fun!” Mom grabbed the shop owner’s hand.

The owner was startled for a moment and sounded a little aggrieved. “The order matches exactly. It’s the same piece and the same date. It’s actually the most expensive one in my store. Hardly anyone ever buys it.”

Mom’s breathing grew ragged. Veins bulged on the back of her hands. Her nails dug into her skin.

She kept muttering under her breath, “The head hasn’t been found yet. It can’t be Kara. People like her don’t die easily.”

Just then, Officer Zane’s phone rang. It was the medical examiner. The voice on the other end was urgent, almost sharp with tension. “Officer Zane, is Moira with you? The DNA results are back. The victim is her daughter—Kara Summers!”