Chapter 2

By the time James rushed to the body dump site in his yellow raincoat, the forensics team had already laid me on the wet ground.

The winter rain was pouring down, accompanied by a freezing wind.

Deputies and K9 units were combing through every inch of the area, searching for any trace of the killer.

The medical examiner walked over to James, his face pale with rage.

"The victim has over a hundred wounds, mostly blanched from the water. But it's clear she was a young woman, and she was brutally tortured before she died."

James followed his gaze. A flicker of disgust and pity crossed his face.

"Bastard... absolute animal! If I catch the sick freak who did this, I'm going to make him pay!"

For the first time in ten years, I felt a spark of my father's pity.

Even if it was as a cold, dead body.

The coroner nodded grimly, promising to do everything to find the killer.

My body was carefully transported to the morgue. James stayed for the autopsy, watching as they cleaned the mud off my face.

The bloated, naked body of a young girl lay on the cold steel table. She was completely unrecognizable, her ears sliced off, and her fingernails ripped out.

Even the veteran medical examiner had to choke back a gag, muttering, "This killer is a psychopath. He wanted to erase her identity completely."

James rubbed his tired face, reviewing the details.

"The skin on her face was extensively mutilated, making visual ID impossible. Judging by dental wear, she's between sixteen and twenty."

"Her ears were cut off, likely to hide a birthmark or surgical scars that could identify her."

"The killer was incredibly cautious—even her fingernails are gone."

"There's no DNA on the body. The reservoir probably wasn't the primary crime scene. We need more clues."

The coroner sighed and patted James's shoulder.

"We'll run DNA to identify her as soon as possible."

"She looks about the same age as your daughter. It's a tragedy."

Then, remembering something, the coroner looked apologetic.

"James, I know you've been working overtime for a month straight."

"Today is Kylie's birthday. You finally got a night off to spend with your family, and we had to drag you out here. I'm sorry."

At the mention of my name, James's face hardened with instant disgust.

"She doesn't deserve a birthday."

"If I could trade her life for Kate's, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Silence fell over the room. No one dared to breathe.

Those words cut deeper and left me more hopeless than the cold blade the killer used to carve up my face.

I used to think that ten years of emotional abuse, silent treatment, and constant degradation would slowly chip away at James's hatred.

But I was foolishly dreaming.

The coroner pursed his lips. "James, it's been ten years. Kylie was only eight back then. She didn't know any better. How can you still blame her?"

"She's your only child now!"

James's eyes burned red with fury.

"How can I not blame her?! If she hadn't thrown a tantrum for that damn cake, would Kate have ever gone out that night?!"

I had heard that accusation a thousand times over the past decade. It was carved into my very soul.

But every time he brought it up, James was still as hysterical and broken as the first day.

At night, I still had nightmares of James dragging me by my hair to Kate's empty-casket memorial headstone.

He would smash my head against the stone until I bled, forcing me to scream that I was sorry, that I shouldn't have asked for that cake.

Sometimes I wished I had died on my eighth birthday instead.

Then, I wouldn't have had to carry the weight of a murderer on my shoulders, growing up alone in this twisted, broken home.

The coroner took a deep breath. "James, I get your anger. But if something actually happens to Kylie, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

I hovered near James, hoping, begging for just one soft word.

"Regret? Bullshit. The day she dies, I'm opening a bottle of champagne."

The tiny spark of hope in my chest died completely.

James, I am dead. Once you find out, will you finally stop hating me?

Just then, an officer walked in with an evidence bag containing a blood-soaked scarf.

The faded fabric was embroidered with tiny yellow stars, now drenched in dark, crusty blood.

James barely glanced at it before waving his assistant over.

"It's just a generic item with no unique identifiers. Send it to the lab to see if the blood matches the victim."

My eyes widened, and my heart shattered into a million pieces.

He forgot. He completely forgot that this was the gift he gave me on my first day of elementary school.

Back then, James was so busy with work that his marriage with Sarah fell apart.

Sarah found a new lover and abandoned both Kate and me to James.

Because I had been deprived of oxygen in the womb during a difficult birth, I developed much slower than other kids.

In elementary school, I still drooled when I got nervous, and the other kids made fun of me.

Growing up without a mother made me terribly insecure. I was terrified of going to school alone.

Since James had no money to spare for my therapy while raising two kids, he hand-sewed this scarf for me, stitching a bunch of little stars onto the fabric.

Back then, James would kiss my cheek and whisper softly:

"Kylie, this is your special handkerchief. Just use it to wipe your mouth whenever you feel nervous."

"It's okay. If anyone laughs at you, tell me."

"This has my scent on it. Whenever you're scared of being alone, just smell it. Think of it as me being right next to you."

"I'm a cop, Kylie. I will protect you forever."

Now, the man who gave me that warm promise had completely forgotten it, calling it a "generic item."

Oh, James... you just missed your only chance to recognize your own daughter.