After Killing His Parents, I Put Him In A Mental Hospital

But my soul did not follow her, but drifted back to Stephen's home.

A little girl curled up on the sofa, too tired to open her eyes.

Seeing her, Stephen slightly relaxed. He kissed her on the face and then carried her to the children's room.

I burst into tears and felt a sharp pain in my heart.

Nana...

After three years of separation, she was no longer the same as when she was just a month old, but we were connected by heart. I recognized her at a glance. She is my Nana...

My transparent hand gently touched the chubby little face of Nana.

Her eyebrows and eyes resemble me and Stephen.

This was my Nana, my baby...

Nana opened his eyes in a daze and whispered, "Daddy..."

"Have you found Mommy?"

Stephen froze, his eyes filled with complexity. "We will find her."

I broke down and cried.

My Nana... Mommy is so sorry for you... I thought.

I floated onto the small bed and lay beside Nana. As if sensing it, she turned over and nestled into my arms.

Even though I knew I couldn't touch her, I was afraid of waking her up.

My transparent hand gently patted her back. I hummed an off-key tune, just like all mothers soothing their children to sleep, gently coaxing her.

"Mommy..."

She nestled in my transparent embrace, murmuring softly in her dreams, her furrowed brow slowly relaxing as she entered dreamland.

After Nana fell asleep, Stephen gently rubbed her head. When he pulled his hand back, he found a strand of Nana's hair stuck to it.

He hesitated for a moment, inexplicably, took an evidence bag, and carefully put the hair into it.

He gently closed the door of Nana's room, sat on the sofa, and stared at the almost invisible hair in the evidence bag.

In the darkness, his figure was surrounded by an indescribable loneliness and solitude.

I don't know how long it took, I saw him reach into his shirt collar and take out a necklace from inside.

His fingertips gently touched the pendant of the necklace, with a gentle and trance-like expression, completely different from his coldness in front of my grandma during the day.

Seeing that necklace, I was a little stunned.

It was the first salary he earned from his part-time job when we just got together, a plain silver necklace.

Three years ago, when I forced him to divorce, I said that this necklace was cheap and had already been thrown away.

He hated me to the core, why did he find the necklace back, and still...

The feeling of cherishing?

After a long time, he took out his phone and flipped through the album to find a photo of me from three years ago.

I hadn't been disfigured yet, and there was a happy smile on my face.

He operated the phone and kept zooming in on the area around my collarbone in the photo.

Right there was a small mole.

He seemed to think of something, took the car keys, and rushed to the dissecting room.

On the cold dissecting table, the white cloth imprinted my mutilated figure.

He stood in front of the dissecting table, stunned for a while, and finally reached out his trembling hand to lift the white cloth.

Holding the phone, he eagerly searched for that small mole on the corpse, comparing it with the photo.

As if he wanted to prove something.

Unfortunately, a hideous scar extended from my neck to my collarbone, with flesh and blood flying, revealing the bone.

But the trace of the red mole had long disappeared.

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"I knew it, how could that woman possibly die!"

After a pause, he took out his phone, opened WhatsApp, and sent a message to the WhatsApp account I used three years ago.

[Betty Gordon, are you disgusted by this pretending-to-be-dead trick!]

[Even if you were dead, I would never forgive you!]

My heart couldn't stop aching, but this path was chosen by myself.

If hating me could make him feel a little better, I would rather have him hate me for the rest of his life.