Evonne hadn't left the country? Then what about my parents and the rest of my family?

If they were still in the country, how could they not have seen the livestream? How could they not have saved me?

I ignored the nearby Bruce and desperately crawled on the ground, looking for my phone. I used my broken finger to open the photo of Hashford that Evonne had sent me.

I zoomed in, then zoomed in again.

It was then that I clearly saw the buildings in the picture.

It wasn't Hashford at all. This was clearly the beach in our city!

I heard Bruce mockingly laugh behind me. "Your parents never went abroad. They're just hiding like cowards! They don't want to save you at all!"

At that moment, the last string of sanity in my mind snapped. This terrifying truth was something I didn't dare think about, not even for a second.

I crawled over and grabbed the phone that was livestreaming. With my face marred with blood and tears, I heartwrenchingly screamed into the screen, "Dad, Mom, it's Penelope! Don't you see me?

"All my fingers are gone! I'm in so much pain, and I'm about to die! Are you really not going to care about me? I'm your biological daughter!"

The comment section became even more frenzied.

"My heart is breaking from this kid's cries!"

"I'm the kid's father! You bad man, let her go! I'll pay the ransom!"

"I'm the kid's mother! Release my kid and take Evonne instead!"

"We are all this child's parents! Just state your conditions!"

Online, countless commenters called themselves my parents, but my real parents never showed up.

In fact, ever since I'd returned to the Watsons, all I ever received daily were cold stares and disdain. When I was happy, they scolded me for stealing Evonne's things. When I was sad, they said I ruined the mood.

Still, because of my blood ties to them, I longed for my parents' love. I had naively believed that they loved me too.

Suddenly, Bruce ended the livestream and coldly declared, "Your parents aren't coming to save you."

I covered my ears and blankly murmured, "No, maybe they just didn't see it…"

Bruce yanked my hair hard, shoved my phone in front of me, and mocked, "An unloved child like you is truly pitiful! Face reality, kid."

On the phone, Evonne had sent me a new video. In the video, the Watsons had lit up rows of fireworks on the beach. Under the glow of the fireworks, they enjoyed a barbecue together, raising their glasses to wish Evonne a happy birthday.

In the corner of the video, I saw a phone casually tossed on the table, playing the livestream of me being tortured.

My unbearable screams were drowned out by their cheerful laughter.

Evonne quickly deleted the video. Then, she gloatingly said, "Oops! I sent it to the wrong person! Dad said we all have to pretend we never saw you.

"My dear sister, just pretend you didn't see that. Oh, wait, it doesn't matter if you see it or not. After all, you're just a filthy country bumpkin—you deserve to die."

I collapsed on the ground, my hands trembling uncontrollably as fresh blood gushed from my severed fingers. But my tear ducts had dried up by then, and I could no longer shed a single tear.

"Do you hate them? Why should they be enjoying themselves as a family while you suffer alone here? If I were you, I'd take revenge and make that animalistic family pay the price!"

Bruce grabbed my trembling hand and shoved a remote control into it. "As soon as you press this button, the video of Zachary and his wife torturing my daughter to death back then will be uploaded to every major video site.

"He will be ruined and disgraced. He will regret ignoring you today."

With bloodshot eyes, Bruce fiercely glared at me. "I want Zachary to be ruined at the hands of his own daughter."

I clutched the remote in my hand, and very quickly, it was stained red with my blood. Yet, I never pressed it.

It was 24 hours later when Bruce was shot dead by the special forces team that had been called in. Then, a group of uniformed officers rushed in, led by my parents.

I lay weakly on the ground, watching as they hurried past me. They even stepped several times on my severed fingers scattered on the floor.

They began searching through Bruce's corpse and the surroundings for something.

"Where did he hide the video?"

"If we can't find it, forget it. They've all been silenced, so no one can dig that matter back up."

"But what if they'd left it with someone else…"

At this point, my parents turned in unison and looked at me. I was already barely alive.

Mom squatted beside me, showing a trace of disgust as her gaze swept over my severed fingers.

She reached out as if to touch my face, but in the end, she only straightened my collar. With a mournful expression, she said, "Penelope, I'm sorry. We came too late this time. It's our fault.

"You were kidnapped for so long. Did you hear the kidnapper mention any video or evidence? Where did he hide it?"

I stared blankly at my biological mother, and my tightly clenched right hand twitched slightly.

If my biological mother had cared even a little about whether my hand hurt or if it could be healed, she would have discovered the remote in my mutilated palm.

However, she didn't.

She and Dad searched for a long time, and after finally confirming that no evidence was left behind, they breathed a sigh of relief.

Just then, the medical staff entered, and several nurses surrounded me. Their eyes brimmed with tears as they gently coaxed me, saying, "Sweetie, it's alright. You're safe now. It doesn't hurt. It won't hurt anymore…"

They cried as they picked up my severed fingers from the floor. Although they knew there was no chance of reattachment, they still carefully kept them away.

Meanwhile, my parents had already turned away, ignoring me.

When I was lifted onto the stretcher, a nurse noticed I was clutching something tightly in my hand. She coaxed softly and said, "Sweetie, let go of that. I'll get you bandaged, then it won't hurt as much."

When I didn't respond, she tried to pry open my hand. However, any applied force made me bleed, so she gave up.

She helplessly called out to Dad, "Mr. Watson, the child is gripping something tightly in her right hand and won't let go. I suspect it might be something important, or it's maybe connected to the kidnappers or the child's family. Do you want to check?"

Dad's expression hardened as if he had realized something, and he started walking toward me.

At that moment, Evonne—dressed in a white dress—rushed in under the heavy protection of the special forces team. She flung herself into Dad's arms like a little chick, crying as if she were the real victim.

After patiently comforting her, Dad's gaze fell once more on my hand.

A trace of jealousy flashed in Evonne's eyes as she shouted and grabbed at Dad. "Dad, her hand is so scary! Don't go near her! I'll get nightmares!"

Dad immediately stopped and nervously covered Evonne's eyes, ready to take her away.

Peter walked up beside him and doubtfully asked, "Zack, that girl keeps staring at you as if she has something to say. Do you know her?"

Without even turning his head, Dad replied, "I don't know her."

Peter patted Dad's shoulder. "The kidnapper was after your daughter, so you'd better keep a close eye on Eve from now on."

Dad nodded. "Of course. Even if something happens to me, I would never let anything happen to my daughter."

Mom also let out a soft sigh. "Luckily, it wasn't Eve who was kidnapped."

Meanwhile, I lay limply on the stretcher, my eyelids twitching uncontrollably as hot tears instantly streamed down my cheeks.

I forced myself up, trembling as I lifted my right hand and reached out toward Mom.

Wasn't this what they were looking for? I kept it safe for them.

Why didn't they want to look at it? Was it because they thought I was disgusting?

Mom screamed and quickly dodged me. She then stood up and patted her uniform that hadn't even been stained with blood.

My hand froze midair.

On the other end, Evonne happily urged, "Mom, hurry! Dad said the three of us are going out for Wersole food to celebrate surviving this ordeal!"

As I watched the retreating backs of the happy family, I couldn't endure it any longer. My tightly clenched right hand loosened, and with my bloodied, mangled fingers, I pressed the remote button.