Died On Stepsister and Boyfriend's Wedding Day

I was raped and murdered on my way back home on the day of my stepsister and my ex-boyfriend's wedding, shortly after being ordered to return by my mother.

As the murderer approached me, I frantically called out to my mother for help.

However, upon answering the phone, she mistook my plea for help as a threat and angrily hung up, shouting, "Adeline, I'm telling you. Even if you have to die, you must attend the wedding!"

However, I didn't show up until the end of the wedding. Despite the presence of other guests, my mother criticized me without any consideration.

Later, the police called and asked her to go and identify the body.

While preparing for dinner, she just nonchalantly replied, "Alright."

I yelled, "Mom, Clyde, help me.

"Dad, I'm in pain. It really hurts."

The man seemed to derive pleasure, riding on me with increasing intensity, while the hands around my neck tightened relentlessly.

I cried out and pleaded with him, begging him to release me.

However, I heard him say, "Stop crying. I fucking hate women crying."

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a switchblade.

As I desperately pleaded, the gleam of the blade cast a menacing shadow, causing me to lose both my sight and my voice.

A chilling breeze passed through my sightless eyes, carrying with it a profound sense of coldness.

"Now, you won't cry anymore, huh?" said he.

I couldn't discern whether I perished from the unbearable pain or the profuse loss of blood.

People said that before one's demise, their subconscious mind would conjure up a myriad of beautiful moments.

As my consciousness drifted, it took me back to a time before I turned five years old. At that moment, I vividly saw my father, the person who meant the world to me. He had showered me with boundless love throughout my life.

Regrettably, this cherished bond lasted only for a fleeting five years. Since then, I had not experienced unwavering devotion from anyone else.

Before my father passed away, I cried so hard that I almost fainted. With his cold yet comforting hands, he gently caressed my face and whispered lovingly, "Delia, don't be afraid. Your mom and brother will love you on my behalf in the future."

But Dad, you were wrong.

My mother and brother didn't love me at all. They wished I were dead.

Actually, I knew from a very young age that my mother and brother, Clyde Watts, did not like me at all.

Every time my mother prepared a meal, she always catered to Clyde's preferences.

Clyde loved to eat beef and broccoli, so my mother prepared this dish every day.

However, he hated broccoli, so he would often give it to me.

Once, unable to resist, I ate a bit of the beef. When my mother discovered this, she struck my palm forcefully with a spoon, causing it to turn red.

With teary red eyes, I dared not cry aloud and instead whispered to her, "Mom, I didn't eat much. Just a little."

Frowning, my mother scolded in disgust, "Are you that starving? You have to eat this much?"

Even as a young child, I had a faint awareness that my mother didn't seem to love me.

As time went on, I gradually confirmed the notion and gained a clearer understanding of the situation.

Just like now, when I desperately called my mother for help, she responded with curses and mercilessly hung up the phone.

She sapped, "Adeline, I'm telling you. Even if you have to die, you must attend the wedding!

"I simply asked you to take 200,000 dollars as a wedding gift. Don't act like I'm asking for your life."

As the phone call was about to end, I heard Clyde's gentle voice comforting my mother, saying, "Mom, don't be angry. It's not worth getting upset over that jinx Adeline."

Over the years, I had heard this sentence repeated countless times, not only from Clyde but also from my mother.

They called me a jinx because on the day I was born, my mother wanted to eat sandwiches, and my grandfather went out to buy some. Tragically, he was hit by a large truck that ran a red light and died on the spot.

Devastated by the loss, my mother delivered me that night when I was still a premature baby.

She placed the entire blame on me, stubbornly believing that my birth was the cause of my grandfather's death and her loss of a father.

As a result, she punished me by depriving me of a mother's love from the very moment I entered this world.

But Mom, if my birth was a sin, why did you choose to bring me into the world?

I floated in the air, watching as the blade descended towards my neck, each strike unleashing a dazzling spray of vibrant red blood.

In this bloody feast where only the murderer was reveling, I actually felt a sense of relief.

Dad, I was finally coming to see you.