On my 18th birthday, my stepmother, Sheila Coleman, teams up with her secret lover, William Lynch, to kill me in cold blood. After that, she carves my femur into a bone sculpture and presents it to my dad as a gift.

Dad loves the sculpture to no end. Thanks to Sheila slandering me in the past, he doesn't give a damn about me at all, even after finding out that I've gone missing. In fact, he even declares that he wants to cut off all ties with me.

"Don't bring that brat up in front of me from now on! I hope that she dies out there!"

But when he finds out that I'm really dead, he goes crazy from remorse.

My 18th birthday ended with my death.

The killers were my stepmother, Sheila Coleman, and her lover, William Lynch, who was also my dad Richard Wade's friend.

As my soul rose, I watched them struggle to drag my body across the floor. They took out a saw they had clearly prepared in advance and began cutting me apart.

Sheila kicked my head like trash under her shoe. "You little bitch. Weren't you so stubborn? Didn't you want to go find your dead mom? Fine. I'll send you to her."

She was still bitter over my calling her a mistress that morning. I wasn't wrong. If she hadn't interfered, my mom would still be alive, and I wouldn't have been left alone. She was a homewrecker.

From their conversation, I learned they planned to take all of Dad's assets for themselves. After killing me, Dad would be next.

His wife and his so-called friend were sleeping together right under his nose, calmly discussing how to kill me first, then him.

It was ridiculous.

That morning, we had gotten into a huge fight over my mom's belongings. Dad grabbed me by the hair and threatened me, saying, "You're the one who doesn't belong in this family. If you dare disrespect your mother again, get out of this house!"

I said my mom was already dead.

Amid Sheila's sharp, venomous insults, Dad flew into a rage. He slapped me hard across the face, threw my mom's scarf at me, and told me to take it and get lost.

I picked it up and walked out without looking back.

The beige scarf I had held to my chest that morning became the noose around my neck that afternoon in Sheila's hands.

She was still not satisfied. After whispering something to William, they removed my leg bones separately and buried the rest of my body on the spot.

"Richard loves bone art, doesn't he?" Sheila said with a sneer. "Carve a piece out of this little bitch's femur and give it to him. He'll be overjoyed."

My femur was sent off to be polished and crafted into a one-of-a-kind bone sculpture. It was placed in a silk-lined box and given away as a gift.

When Dad saw it, his eyes lit up with delight. He turned the piece back and forth under the light, studying every detail. "This is remarkable," he said. "Will, where did you find it?"

"I knew you'd like it," William said with a grin, glancing at Sheila. "I had a friend source it. They say it's made in Khastan. You rarely see anything this exquisite."

Dad could barely hide his excitement. He clasped William's hand tightly. "I knew you were the only one who truly gets me. This is magnificent. If there's ever anything you need, I'll make it happen."

William's face lit up. "That project on the east side…"

"It's yours," Dad said, waving the matter off. "With a gift like this, how could I even think of competing with you?"

Truly, it was an incredibly generous gift.

As William and Sheila glanced at each other, Dad struck me as almost laughable, like a bad joke.

At that moment, Dad's phone rang. It was the housekeeper, Mary Lane. "Mr. Wade, Ms. Wade hasn't come home for several days. Should we…"

"If she wants to come back, fine. If she dies out there, even better," Dad snapped, absentmindedly rubbing the bone sculpture. "If she calls, tell her this. Unless she kneels down and apologizes to Sheila, she can forget about stepping into this house again."

Mary had worked in our house for many years. She knew both Dad's and my tempers and tried to persuade him softly. "Mr. Wade, Ms. Wade is still young. If you talk to her properly, she'll understand."

Dad sneered. "Stop making excuses for her. I don't care how stubborn she is. I'll crush that attitude out of her."

I really was stubborn. I never backed down or begged for mercy, even when I died. They were animals who deserved to die horribly, and I would never let them look down on me.

By the third day I was gone, my teacher, Ms. Anne Taylor, called to ask why I hadn't come to school. She also told Dad that the incident earlier had been fully investigated and confirmed that I hadn't thrown the first punch. The other student had insulted my deceased mother first.

Back then, my explanation only earned me a slap from Dad. He kicked me hard and screamed, "Your mother's been dead for ten years, and you're still hiding behind her. Why don't you just go die?"

I hit my head on the table, and blood immediately poured from my nose. I heard Ms. Taylor scream, then the other parent yelled, "No wonder she's such trash. Now I see why. There was no mother to raise her! Don't think this is over. She owes my kid an apology!"

They forced me to kneel, but I kept my mouth shut. Dad slapped me over and over, grabbing my head and slamming it down.

In the end, the other parent had enough and told him to forget it. Rain poured down that day. I was told to kneel outside the front door as punishment. I refused, and the moment he turned away, I got up and ran.

Sheila accused me of running off with some man. In a fit of rage, Dad forced me to kneel and slam my head against the floor again and again.

He especially liked forcing me to kneel in public, as if doing so could grind away my dignity and make me obedient.

I didn't care about dignity. I only wanted justice.

Ms. Taylor said, "Mr. Wade, we truly misunderstood Raena. The matter has been cleared up, and the other party is willing to apologize. Could we—"

"No need," Dad said coldly. "If she hadn't been so defiant all the time, would anyone have believed her? This is what she deserves—a lesson. Ms. Taylor, don't show her any kindness. She's beneath it."

I couldn't help but laugh at the way my father described me.

Ms. Taylor kept trying to talk some sense into him, then gave up and hung up.

Dad fiddled with the bone sculpture in his hand, and for once, he made a call to me.

The call didn't go through. He cursed me for being ungrateful, then sent a text. Among the string of insults, the last line stood out. "Your mom's birthday is in two days. If you're going to play dead, don't bother coming back for the rest of your life."

Then I wouldn't go back. She was never my mother.

Mary looked worried. "Mr. Wade, could something have happened to Ms. Wade? It's been over 48 hours already. Maybe we should call the police."

"Call the police for what?" Dad snorted. "She's not embarrassed, but I am. Does she think I'm going to give in like this? Not a chance. If she has the guts, she can stay gone forever. I'd be glad to be rid of the burden."

Mary hesitated, then let out a quiet sigh.

At Sheila's birthday banquet, Dad beamed with pride as he showed the bone sculpture to his friends. He boasted without batting an eyelid, "This was made from the femur of an 18‑year‑old girl. Top quality, straight from Khastan. You don't see something like this every day."

The people around him murmured in admiration. Someone suddenly asked, "Richie, come to think of it, your daughter should be 18 this year, right? Why didn't you celebrate her birthday?"

Dad's hand tightened around the bone sculpture. His eyes went blank for a split second before he waved it off. "Don't mention that ingrate. She'll be better off dead."

That night, Dad was clearly distracted. He kept lifting his phone, wavering over whether to call me at all.

Seeing this, Sheila immediately broke down in tears. "In the end, you still care more about your own daughter. I'm just an outsider here. I've been married into this family for years, and they still whisper behind my back, calling me a homewrecker. She ran off right before my birthday on purpose, just to make me look like a fool."

Dad hurried to calm her down, then had every one of my things thrown into the trash, as if I were trash myself.

On the seventh day after I disappeared, the city was hit by an unprecedented typhoon. The streets were littered with fallen trees, and flooded cars were abandoned everywhere.

Sheila threw a party at home that day, bringing in a swarm of guests. Dad hovered among them, holding someone else's child, teasing them, and smiling with a jealous pride he would never show me.

He liked children. He just didn't like me.

The torrential rain eventually washed my body out. Someone found it and called the police. The forensic team pieced my remains back together, but my left lower leg was missing.

Based on the birthmark on my arm, the police cross-checked every missing person in the city and released a public notice asking for identification.

Mary held the notice tightly, her face filled with worry. "Mr. Wade, Ms. Wade has a birthmark like this too. We should go check."

Dad's face darkened over the photo of the birthmark.

Before he could say a word, Sheila cut in. "Mary, stay quiet if you don't know the truth. You see a dead body and immediately claim it's Raena's. How much did she pay you to pull this stunt?"

Mary's face turned pale. "I'm just worried about Ms. Wade. She's still young."

"Young? What do you mean, young?" Sheila snapped. "Hasn't she done enough damage already? Mary, you've been with this family for years. Raena is childish, but don't tell me you're childish too? If she's already like this now, who knows what she might be capable of later? She could hurt someone or even set a house on fire, and you're helping her lie. That ingrate was never raised right, and now she even knows how to play the victim."

After being married to Dad for so many years, Sheila knew exactly how to manipulate him.

Sure enough, Dad's expression hardened. He slammed his hand on the table and roared, "Mary, stop speaking up for that ingrate. She's been rotten since she was a child. I fed her, clothed her, and raised her. Do I owe her anything? It's one thing to be ungrateful, but she dares to defy me at every turn. This time, unless she kneels and apologizes, I will never forgive her."

He didn't care about where I'd run to or if I were dead or alive. All he wanted was for me to admit I was wrong, but I refused. I hadn't done anything wrong.

Sheila wore a smug smile. Dressed to the nines, she announced that she was heading out to meet her friends. As soon as she turned away, she stepped straight into William's arms and complained, "That little bitch really is nothing but trouble. She even got washed out. I should have burned her body from the beginning. What if she gets identified? What if it leads back to us?"

"Relax," William said, soothing her. "I cleaned everything up. No one will find out. Without evidence, it will be a cold case. Besides, Richard hates that daughter of his so much. Even if he finds out she is dead, he will not care that much. Once things die down, we can figure out how to get rid of that idiot."

He was right. Even if Dad knew I was dead, he wouldn't care.

Whenever Dad struck me at Sheila's urging, forcing me to my knees, I could feel the full weight of his contempt. As a child, I had seen him as the greatest man alive. Now, I saw only a fool.