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My face was covered in wounds, barely recognizable even to myself.
An officer helped Mom up, his expression pained.
Mom gagged, then asked, “Officer Lewis, since the victim's ID is confirmed, why haven't you notified the family?”
I realized then—Mom still didn't know it was me. She was just horrified by the brutality.
I looked at Dad. He seemed shaken too, but only by the killer's cruelty.
I wasn't surprised. They hadn't looked at me properly in two years. Of course they didn't recognize me.
But Officer Lewis—the one who'd brought me up before—knew me well. He knew about my family. He seemed hesitant and sad.
Mom put on gloves, ready to examine the body.
“The neck wound is jagged. Like before, decapitated while alive. The body is covered in injuries, but the fatal ones are the seven stab wounds in the abdomen. Probably from struggling…”
She handled my remains clinically, never looking closely at the head.
I wondered if she'd shed even one tear for me—like she did for my brother—if she knew it was her daughter lying there.
Dad couldn't take it. He turned to Lewis. “Give me the victim's file. I will bring this monster to justice.”
But Lewis held the folder tightly, his face grave. Finally, he said:
“I can't believe you didn't recognize her! See for yourselves!”
Dad took the file, confused. He read the first line and froze.
“Victim: Olivia Miller…”
His hands trembled violently, but he forced out, “Lots of people… share the same name…”
Mom heard him, turned. “What are you talking about? It can't be Olivia. She texted me just the other day—”
Then it hit them. What I'd sent.
They both pulled out their phones, pale, scrolling through their messages.
Only then did they finally really look at that text.
But there wasn't much to see. It was simple. A cry for help.
“I'm dying. Dad, Mom, please save me…”
Lewis saw it too, his eyes red with anger:
“Are you insane? Even if she wasn't your daughter—even if she was a stranger—as a cop and a medical examiner, how could you ignore a plea like that?!”
“If you'd acted then, maybe she'd still be alive! You killed her!”
Watching from above, I smiled bitterly.
If it had been a stranger, they would've moved heaven and earth to help.
But because it was me, they didn't care.
“No! That's impossible! The wicked always live long—a disaster like her doesn't die this easily!”
“I'm her mother! If she died, I'd feel it!”
Mom refused to believe it. Trembling, she dialed my number.
No one picked up the first few times. Her face grew ashen.
On the fourth try, someone answered.
