If Possible, I Don't Want to be Your Daughter Anymore

When Linda arrived downstairs at my apartment, the property manager was leading a landscaping crew planting trees.

In her hurry, she saw the crew digging furiously with shovels in the soil, and for some reason, a sudden unease gripped her heart.

I, too, was startled.

Yesterday, when David buried me, I was barely conscious.

But now, as a soul, I could feel my body just below where the landscaping team was working.

Maybe, in the next second, they would dig me up.

"Hey, look what I found!" one of the gardeners shouted.

My heart leaped into my throat.

It was broad daylight, and I had died so disgracefully. It would be too horrifying to scare strangers.

Before I could see what was being dug up, Linda clutched her chest and went upstairs, complaining all the way.

"Why did she insist on living in this lousy place? So close to home, yet she wasted money on this!"

She didn't have a key to my place, so she knocked on the door twice, then called me again, annoyed.

"Emily, answer the phone!

"Emily, what are you doing?"

Through the door, she heard my phone ringing again and again.

But inside, there were no footsteps approaching to open the door.

After waiting five minutes, Linda lost patience and called a locksmith.

The locksmith worked quickly, and after receiving the payment, the door was opened in no time.

Linda stormed into my apartment, demanding. "Emily! What kind of nonsense are you up to now?!

"Your cousin is making her debut next month. You're coming with me to support her so people don't misunderstand and your fans don't criticize her!"

After saying this, she got no response, frowning as she rushed into the bathroom.

After the accident, I couldn't bear to face my mother, who had abandoned me, every day.

So I rented a place nearby to take care of her but still have my own space.

Unfortunately, after my disfigurement, my ability to earn money had greatly diminished. This one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment was the best I could afford within my budget.

The bedroom was empty. The bathroom was empty.

Linda picked up my phone from the floor, noticing it had run out of battery, and muttered, "Where did that girl go?!"

Puzzled, she lowered her head and spotted a crumpled cigarette pack under the bed.

I never smoked.

The cigarette pack was something I had left behind in a moment of quick thinking when David dragged me out.

Its purpose was to ensure that my death would be discovered and not be mistaken for a cowardly suicide.

Now, Linda stared intently at that cigarette pack.

I held my breath, knowing it had David's DNA on it. If she took it to the police, he would surely be convicted...