My mother is the best forensic expert in the city. Together with my dad, she has solved countless major criminal cases.

Even though she had just finished her confinement period after giving birth, she quickly got back into work mode as soon as she stepped into the lab.

She changed into her work uniform, focusing intently on the items on the operating table.

I floated in the air, silently observing my broken body, while watching my mother put on gloves and piece me back together, like assembling a puzzle.

Her movements were skilled and professional.

In less than three hours, my body finally started to resemble a human form again.

Some parts had been soaked in water for so long that they looked massive, making it quite challenging to put everything together.

My mother took off her gloves and rubbed her aching forehead.

"Ms. Liam, you should take a break. You've been working for three hours straight," said her assistant.

The assistant Ryan was very considerate and actively suggested that my mother take a rest.

My mother didn't refuse. She let out a long sigh and stepped outside.

After confirming with Eric that Austin was safe, she returned to continue her work.

Ryan had taken over some of the tasks. He pointed at my wrist and said, "Here, there should be a bracelet."

My mother's whole body tensed. She walked over to examine it closely but shook her head.

"This line is too deep; it looks more like it was made by a wire."

Her tone was calm, but her hands trembled slightly.

I knew she must have thought of me.

But it was just a fleeting moment.

After that tremor, she resumed her high level of professionalism.

In less than two hours, she finally finished piecing together the remaining parts.

She took detailed notes and headed to the special investigation team for a report.

"The victim was likely just an adult, with multiple stab wounds. The most critical areas have been damaged beyond recognition by the solution. The relevant data has been handed over to the testing lab, and…"

She paused, her expression filled with disgust. "A heart has been drawn on the victim's body."

At this, all the police officers present gasped in shock.

Especially my father, who slammed his hand on the table in disbelief.

They all knew what that heart symbolized.

Years ago, when Jack was brutally murdered, the killer had also left a heart on his body.

"Could this mean…?"

My father stammered, pointing at the screen. He was about to speak but was sharply interrupted by my mother: "No!"

To divert attention, my mother unleashed a slew of details.

When the images reached the mark on my wrist, the officer who had come to collect evidence at our home suddenly called for a stop.

I suddenly held my breath.

Had they found something?

I have never taken off that bracelet.

If they put it on my wrist, they would surely notice that even though my wrist was swollen, the area covered matched perfectly with the back of the bracelet.

The officer suggested this, but my mother quickly countered.

"The marks are too deep, how could it be from the bracelet?"

"Give it a try."

The police proposed, but my mother's face suddenly changed.

Because they didn't know that while they were looking for other evidence, she had already disposed of that bracelet.

The investigation hit a stalemate.

Finally, the lead officer made a decision: "Let's start with a DNA test and have the sketch artist depict the victim's appearance. Whoever it is, we will get to the bottom of this!"

Because of an officer's suspicion, both my parents looked grim when they left the office.

When getting on the car, my father received a phone call.

It was from my homeroom teacher Alice. They didn't communicate much, so my father looked a bit flustered.

My mother turned her head away, not wanting to look at him.

"Hello, I'm calling about Lauren. Has she been in touch with you? I've been unable to reach her."

Alice sounded worried. Over the years, she had taken good care of me, treating me like her own daughter, and she was the only one I felt any semblance of familial love from.

"May I ask if there is something wrong?" asked my father.

"Oh, yes. Today is the deadline for filling out college applications, and the school has reported that Lauren hasn't submitted hers yet. Please remind her to do so quickly; she has good grades and shouldn't waste this opportunity."

My father kept agreeing and then hung up to drive.

"Nancy, call Lauren."

My mother glared at him angrily and said loudly, "What's the use of asking me when you don't even know where your own daughter is?"

"Is she only my daughter?" my father's voice rose sharply. "You've ignored her for years. That incident happened ten years ago—do you still hate her that much?"

His outburst was frantic, but it didn't earn him a word of concession from my mother.

"I don't care, you have to call her!"

This time, my father's tone was firm, and my mother finally looked a bit intimidated.

She opened her contacts and dialed my number.

Unfortunately, after three unanswered calls, she hung up in frustration.

"Who knows where she's gone now?"

She fumed, getting out of the car.

I followed behind, tears streaming down my face.

This time, I was truly dead—my body was right in front of them.

In despair, I thought, just recognize me already. Burn my remains and scatter them.

Anything would be better than being part of this family.

Lost in thought, more tears rolled down my cheeks.

Just then, I heard my father's phone ring.

The sketch artist's panicked voice came through: "Mr. Reed, you need to come back! We've restored the victim's appearance—it's your daughter Lauren!"