Last Goodbye in Pieces

My boyfriend is a forensic artist.

He was forced to make a harrowing decision to save his first love. At the killer's demand, he created a portrait from a photo—he never realized that the young girl in the photo was me in my childhood.

Two weeks later, the police investigate a grisly bomb explosion and dismemberment case. The victim's identity was unrecognizable, and the investigation dragged on for days as the authorities desperately searched the blast site, looking for my remains.

After three days and nights, they finally recovered enough of my remains to reconstruct my face.

When my boyfriend unknowingly brought the shattered fragments back to life with his art, he was confronted with a horrifying truth—one that drove him to the edge of madness.

My body lay amidst the wreckage of the explosion, shattered into countless fragments.

As the police swarmed the scene, the ground was blanketed with debris. The area was quickly sealed off, and the forensic examiner carefully collected every piece of evidence. Each fragment was placed in a bag and taken back to the precinct.

“The autopsy report indicates the victim was a young woman, aged 20 to 22, dead no more than a day,” one officer read aloud.

“In other words, she was alive before the explosion.”

“The victim’s face took the brunt of the impact. Her bones were shattered, and her stomach pulverized. It looks like the killer planted a bomb inside her and detonated it.”

The room fell silent as the officers absorbed the horrifying details. They stared at the mangled remains, some with fury burning in their eyes.

A young officer could not bear the sight and ran outside to lose his lunch.

The rest stood firm, fists clenched, a storm brewing within them.

“This was pure torture. What kind of monster could hate someone enough to kill like this?”

“Captain, what’s our next move?”

The detective squad captain turned around. “Get Patrick in here!”

Just then, I noticed the figure standing at the door.

Patrick Green, my boyfriend, strode in. He looked worn, his hair tousled by the wind, but his aura still exuded an undeniable elegance. The wind had tousled his hair, but it did nothing to diminish his commanding presence.

With a serious expression, Patrick donned a pair of white gloves and approached my body. His deep, searching eyes scanned the mangled face before him.

After a meticulous examination, he made his assessment.

“I can’t seem to get the face right. The skull’s incomplete, and some key pieces are missing.

“I suggest you take another look around the blast site. You might find the missing parts.”

The police team took his advice and sent a squad to search the explosion site that very night for the remaining fragments of my body.

However, Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes away from my remains. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally asked, “Was the victim left-handed?”

The forensic examiner blinked in surprise. “How could you tell? The right hand was badly damaged, and the bones weren’t properly formed. She must’ve used her left hand more.”

Patrick was a master of skeletal structure. He had been a star pupil, the genius artist praised by every teacher. Even at graduation, his mentor had asked, “Why give up a great career for the police force?”

He never gave his mentor an answer. However, I knew the reason. It was all for his father—to seek justice for him.

Yet, that same man, driven by his one-sided love, allowed the killer to walk free.

The forensic examiner was right. The killer had gone out of their way to torment me before I died.

I had always kept to myself, so I was unable to understand why I had been targeted.

Until the killer revealed that drawing…