My broken body was placed in a body bag and sent to my dad’s office.

Soon, my severed limbs were discovered and immediately brought to him.

Capt. Lister stood at the autopsy table with a frown, pointing at my fingers.

“Luke, look, the deceased’s fists are tightly clenched, but her right middle finger was forcibly broken. Could it be because she was wearing an identifiable piece of jewelry there?”

“It’s possible,” my dad confirmed with a nod.

Capt. Lister hesitated as he looked at him.

“I remember Lena always wore a ring on her right middle finger…”

My dad raised his eyes, glaring at him with dissatisfaction.

“There are so many people who wear rings. It’s not just her. A troublemaker like her wouldn’t die so easily!”

Capt. Lister looked anxious, reaching out to grab him without even removing his gloves.

“Luke, do you still remember that serial killer from years ago?”

My dad trembled all over.

That incident had always been his inner demon.

Six years ago, my dad was the city’s most renowned forensic expert, while my mom was the youngest chief of detectives. At that time, Capt. Lister was just one of my mom’s subordinates.

During that period, they tirelessly pursued a serial killer who had harmed eight young girls, working so hard that they hadn’t returned home for an entire month.

They caught the suspect, but unfortunately, the evidence in hand was insufficient for a conviction.

In the final moments, my dad locked himself in the forensic lab for three days without sleep, finally finding the crucial evidence to convict him.

But no one had anticipated that he had a twin brother.

The serial killer was executed on the very day my sister went missing.

It had been raining heavily that day, and the surveillance footage captured her being dragged away by a man in a black raincoat, after which she disappeared without a trace.

Everyone suspected that the person who took my sister was the killer’s brother, but no one dared to voice this cruel truth.

A year later, my mom chose to resign due to her overwhelming grief, while my dad continued to serve in the police force.

Now, suddenly recalling this, my dad’s expression changed drastically.

Capt. Lister observed him cautiously. After hesitating for a moment, he continued, “If it really is him, I’m afraid Lena will be in danger…”

“Enough!” My dad interrupted impatiently.

“I’d be glad for Lena to die. I clearly warned her to keep an eye on Jessica and not let her go outside, but she still sent Jessica to get her admission notice! It was pouring that day, and Jessica was so small. The terror on her face when she was taken away nearly broke my heart!”

I had heard this countless times. Every so often, I would receive calls from my parents.

They would endlessly accuse me, repeating how cold-blooded I was, hiding at home while pushing my sister to her doom.

I helplessly defended myself, telling them I hadn’t known, that I had been unconscious from a high fever that day and hadn’t realized my sister was going out.

But they didn’t believe me. In their eyes, I was just a cold-hearted liar.

Amidst their endless insults and accusations, I even wished that I had been the one to go missing that year.

If I hadn’t fallen ill that day, if I had managed to stay conscious, if I could have disappeared in her place, it would have been better.

At least I wouldn’t have to live on as the greatest sinner, enduring a fate worse than death.

Capt. Lister sighed, wanting to continue persuading my dad.

But my dad no longer looked at him. He lowered his head to carefully examine my teeth.

When he checked the broken incisor in my mouth, he frowned slightly.

Then, with an indifferent face, he said to his assistant, “The deceased is missing an incisor. From the break, it appears to have been broken a long time ago. Make a note of it in the autopsy report and suggest they pay special attention to it. It might become a clue to identify the deceased.”

I looked at my dad with tears in my eyes.

He had probably forgotten that his most hated daughter was also missing a tooth—one he had broken with his own hands.

My sister went missing for six years, and no one saw her alive or found her body. In the hearts of my parents, she had long been considered dead.

They erected a tombstone for her and designated the day she disappeared as her death anniversary.

I was only allowed to return home on that day, so I could kneel before her grave to apologize.

Last year, I suddenly fainted on my way to the train station. A passerby took me to the hospital, causing me to miss my train home.

By the time I rushed back, it was already three days later.

My furious father grabbed my hair and dragged me to my sister's grave. He held my head down and forcefully smashed it against the tombstone.

I felt dizzy from the impact, but he was still unsatisfied and viciously slapped my face.

Again and again, he struck me until my lips split and one of my front teeth was knocked out.

But now, he seemed to have forgotten.

Perhaps he had never cared.

To him, no matter what injuries I suffered—even if it cost me my life—I deserved it.

Tears fell from my eyes, and I thought, ‘Father, I really am dead now. I wonder if this counts as atonement in your heart.’

My father remained focused on examining the body, but suddenly, his phone rang.

He irritably took off his gloves and pressed the answer button.

My mother’s angry voice came through the receiver.

"That wretched Lena still hasn't come back! I think she just doesn't want to visit Jessica!"

I forced a bitter laugh. Was it me who didn't want to come back?

I had already died, killed by a cruel man's cold blade.

My father scoffed, "It would be best if she never came back, dying out there is better. Just looking at her disgusts me!"

As I listened to their exchange of insults, my heart felt as if it had been crushed by a heavy stone.

Clearly, I had sent a message asking for help that day, but they didn’t care.

Perhaps my death was a kind of relief for them.

In fact, even if I hadn’t been brutally killed, I wouldn’t have lived long anyway.

A year ago, after I fainted, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

I had told my parents, but they thought I was just trying to elicit their sympathy.

"Lena, if you want to die, just hurry up and make it happen. Don't expect us to feel sorry for you."

I just couldn't bear to die. I was afraid that when they grew old, no one would take care of them.

But now, seeing the disdain in their eyes as they talked about me, I felt a bit relieved to have died in this way.

They had always hoped for my miserable end, and once they discovered how tragic my death was, they would surely be satisfied.

After hanging up, my father’s gaze refocused on my body.

His eyes slowly began to redden.

It was indeed a sight too tragic to bear, and his voice trembled.

"There are stab wounds on the deceased—eight in total—but they all missed the vital organs."

"Preliminary assessment suggests the cause of death was excessive bleeding."

"The killer is truly perverse. He made the girl bleed out slowly. How painful it must have been."

I felt even more bitterness inside; it was indeed very painful.

I trembled all over from the pain, but there was nothing I could do except cry helplessly.

Yet my crying annoyed the killer. He grinned and gouged out my eyes.

My father’s hand holding the scalpel trembled. He took a deep breath and reminded his assistant to prepare for a craniotomy.

I hoped that when he saw the tumor in my brain, he might remember me, who was the one diagnosed with a brain tumor.

As I was thinking, the door of the forensic room was pushed open.

A young detective stood outside, looking like he was in a panic as he stared at my father.

My father frowned and looked at him in displeasure.

"What are you doing rushing in here? Young people nowadays just can't keep their cool."

"Just say what you need to say. Can’t you see I'm busy?"

The young detective gritted his teeth and said slowly, "Capt. Lister, Luke, the DNA report for the deceased has come out... she... she is Luke’s daughter!"