When I get mutilated by the killer, my Mom, who works as a forensic doctor, is currently shopping with my older sister, Winona Langdon.

After the killer gouges out one of my eyes, he unlocks my phone and sends Mom a video call invitation. But the video call only rings a few times before Mom rejects it.

When the killer tries calling her again, he finds out that my number has already been blocked. He merely shoots me a mocking smile in return.

Once the police have discovered my body, Mom can't help but curse at the killer for his brutality after seeing how badly I was decimated.

But what she doesn't recognize is that the twisted-looking corpse actually belongs to me, her unloved daughter.

My body was discovered on a remote mountain.

By then, I had been dead for a week. Due to the sweltering summer heat, my corpse was already decomposing. The stench was absolutely horrendous.

The morning jogger who had stumbled upon me couldn't stop vomiting, his face deathly pale. With shaking hands, he called the police to report his finding.

Mom was at Winona Langdon's birthday party when she was pulled away by an emergency call. She had no choice but to rush to the crime scene.

As a forensic doctor, she had seen her fair share of horrifying scenes over the years. Even so, she couldn't help but frown when she saw my mutilated corpse; for a brief second, a hint of genuine anguish flashed in her eyes.

Prolonged exposure and decomposition had caused the body to bloat grotesquely. The face was smashed to a bloody pulp. Bones peeked out here and there, stabbed through the skin of the naked form.

Putting on a pair of gloves, Mom began her preliminary examination of the body, sticky with rot. A while later, she removed a bracelet wrapped around my ankle.

I watched her anxiously. That bracelet had been a gift from Grandma before I died, and today happened to be my birthday.

In truth, my birthday was only one day after Winona's, yet Mom and Dad never remembered. Every year, they threw a grand party for Winona. Afterward, Mom would head to work, not returning until late.

One birthday, Grandma specifically made that bracelet for me, even carving my name on the pendant. When Winona saw it, she pretended to be jealous and called to tell Mom about it.

That night, Mom rushed home and tore into me. "How can you be jealous of your sister? Just because I threw her a party, you poisoned your grandmother against Winona? How could you be so malicious?"

Glaring, she continued, "Samantha Langdon, stop your scheming. So what if you're biologically mine? Winnie has been with us for 20 years. She is far more important to us than you. You're nothing but an ungrateful wretch!"

With that, she yanked the bracelet from my wrist and, with a final mocking look, tossed it out the window.

I distinctly remembered searching through the bush for hours, tears streaming, until I finally found it in a ditch.

I was sure Mom would remember this bracelet. Yet her expression was blank as she placed it in an evidence bag.

Seeing that, I sighed. I wasn't sad, just feeling rather helpless. After all, she didn't love me. Why would she remember anything about me?

Dad and Mom were always busy with work. When I was still very young, they left me with Grandma in a rural village. Seeing other children with their parents, I dreamed they would come back for me one day.

The age of compulsory schooling in my country was nine. Grandma told me my parents were coming to take me back for my education.

To say I was excited when I heard that was an understatement.

However, on the way to the village, Dad encountered robbers and was killed. At his funeral, Mom was beside herself, crying so hard she gasped for breath, her grief a raw, open wound.

After that, I was brought back to the Langdon residence, where I discovered there was another girl.

Winona was the daughter of Dad's war buddy. Dad had adopted her after her father died during a mission.

From the start, she stared at me with a gaze full of hostility and wariness, as if I were an intruder in her life. Eyes bloodshot, she pointed an accusing finger at me and screamed, "You're the person who stole Daddy from me! You're a murderer!"

I remember being completely stunned at her words, unable to form a response.

Mom hurriedly hugged her from behind, whispering gentle comforts.

After that, Mom began blaming me for everything.

Back in the present, Peter Lintell approached Mom and asked, "So what's up with the body?"

Mr. Lintell was Dad's best friend.

Mom massaged the bridge of her nose. "The victim is female, approximately 20 years old. Preliminary findings indicate the cause of death was a stab wound to the throat by a sharp object. She was also tortured severely before death."

Lighting a cigarette, Mr. Lintell took a deep drag. In a voice tinged with melancholy, he said, "We need to solve this before it ferments and causes a public stir."

Then, he turned to Mom. "It isn't safe with the killer loose. You'd better tell Winona and Samantha to stay home at night."

Mom waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not worried about Winnie; she's very obedient."

Then, her face twisted with disdain. "As for Samantha, she's not my problem."

Mr. Lintell sighed. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Samantha is still your biological daughter. Try to be nicer to her."

Mom shook her head. "Peter, you don't know everything. She caused her father's death. If she had been good and obedient after returning to the family, it might have been different. But ever since she arrived, we've never had peace. She's either jealous of Winnie or causing trouble."

There was no end to her resentment when it was about me.

"Today is Winnie's birthday. She told me she's been calling Samantha for days, but Samantha refuses to pick up or reply to any messages.

"I didn't raise her myself. Is it any surprise she turned out worthless? She could die out there and no one would even know."

I floated nearby, watching her complain about me. I didn't feel anything. For some reason, after becoming a spirit, all those complicated emotions had left me.

…

Under the harsh white lights of the autopsy room, Mom stood clad in a white uniform, latex gloves snug on her hands. Her brow was furrowed as she stared at my corpse on the autopsy table.

A look of deep pity and heartache filled her eyes.

As far as I could remember, I had never seen her look at me that way.

Her gaze traveled slowly across my body before finally landing on my waist, where a ghastly scar marred the skin. I got it during a conflict with Winona not long after I returned to the family.

That day, Mom finished cooking and gently stroked Winona's head, telling her to be good, finish her breakfast, and be careful on the way to school.

Winona played the part of an obedient girl while Mom watched. However, the moment Mom turned around, Winona rolled her eyes in disdain, scrubbing at the spot Mom had touched.

"Ugh, what bad luck," she muttered.

Fury roared through me, and I charged forward and grabbed Winona's hair. In the ensuing scuffle, a bowl shattered. Winona swiftly snatched up a shard and slashed it at my waist in one vicious move.

I could only stare in shock at the bright red blood gushing from the wound, the agony stealing the breath from my lungs.

Winona immediately called Mom and tearfully reported what had happened. The instant she hung up, the tears stopped. Then, she sat down on the couch and began playing on her phone, as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, I continued to bleed on the floor, my vision blurring until I eventually lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The first thing that greeted me was a resounding slap from Mom.

"How could you be so wicked? she screamed. "Just because Winnie ate an extra egg, you hurt her like that?"

Dumbfounded, I turned to look at Winona, only then noticing the bandages wrapped around her arm.

I was brought out of my memories when I saw Mom lean over to inspect the scar more closely, a frown on her face.

A few seconds later, she calmly said to her assistant, "This is an old scar, not an injury left by the killer."

At that moment, her phone rang—the ringtone specifically set for Winona.

Mom hurriedly took off her gloves and walked into the corridor to answer. Her voice was warm and gentle as a summer breeze. "Hi, sweetheart. What's up?"

Winona's voice came over the line sweetly. "Mom, let's have dinner together."

"Tonight?" Mom hesitated briefly. "Alright, I'll definitely be there."

"You're the best, Mom! I wonder if Sammy can make it. I keep trying to bring her into the family even though I know she doesn't like me. After all, I hogged you and Dad to myself for so many years. Still, I hope she'll come."

The mention of Dad darkened Mom's expression instantly. "Winnie, don't bother with her. She'll never be grateful. If it weren't for her, your dad would still be alive. She doesn't deserve to be my daughter. You, on the other hand, will forever be my baby."

With a tinkling laugh, Winona said, "Mom, Mr. Lintell called me just now to tell me to be more careful. You should remind Sammy to watch out too."

Brow furrowing, Mom said, "You just focus on your own safety. Don't worry about her."

…

The police force gathered in the conference room to listen to Mom's autopsy report. When she finished, a dead silence fell. Sheer disbelief and pain were written across their faces—what I had experienced was far crueler than they had imagined.

Both of my eyeballs had been removed, leaving two gaping holes. Only a thin layer of flesh still connected my head to my neck, and hardly an inch of skin on my body was left unmarred. Broken shards of bone were mixed with blood and flesh, forming a sticky, clotted paste.

Even imagining what I had gone through was enough to make them shiver.

My murder case sent shockwaves through society, and the public was in an uproar.

The higher-ups placed immense pressure on the police to solve the murder as soon as possible.

The increased burden weighed heavily, casting an unprecedented seriousness over everyone. A dark cloud seemed to hang over the department.

After the report, Mr. Lintell lit a cigarette and turned to Mom with a frown. In a low voice, he asked, "I tried calling Sammy earlier, but she didn't pick up. She hasn't answered my messages either. Is she not home?"

Mom scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. "She has legs, and it's not as if I can keep her on a leash. She's probably just pretending to be missing again. It's not her first time."

Indeed, this wasn't the first time I had gone missing.