Mother, Can You Love Me Again?

When I was being targeted by criminals, my mom was busy preparing for my sister's wedding.

Faced with the kidnappers' ransom demands, her attitude was ice cold.

"No money, go ahead and kill her."

Ten days later, a gruesome dismemberment case made headlines nationwide.

As a member of the special case investigation team, my mom had seen all kinds of crime scenes.

But as the case unfolded, her heart started to feel uneasy for some reason.

...

The North City Police Department just received a report.

Someone found a female corpse on Mount Peony in the suburbs.

Missing head, missing four limbs.

When my mom arrived at the scene, despite being mentally prepared, she couldn't help but furrow her brow when she saw the victim's body.

"The victim is a young woman."

"Based on the degree of decomposition, the victim died about ten days ago."

The forensic examiner, gloved hands, examined the body.

While examining, he lamented.

"Another deranged serial killer has emerged, turning the victim into this. They must have had a huge vendetta to do this."

My mom stared at the victim for a long time.

More precisely, she stared at the victim's clothes.

From childhood to adulthood, I only wore one brand of clothes, which she knew.

Just when I thought she had recognized me, she smoothed out her furrowed brow again.

"Kids these days only care about material satisfaction, wearing expensive clothes without a thought for how hard their parents work."

"Samantha, this brand of clothes isn't even that expensive."

The young forensic examiner in her twenties looked at my mom suspiciously.

In my memory, my sister's spending habits were even more outrageous than mine.

But my mom had never criticized her at all.

Even though I was her biological child.

...

Two hours later, Detective John returned with the police dog.

"Samantha, we searched everywhere around, but couldn't find the victim's other body parts. I suspect the killer has already moved them."

As the team leader in charge of this case, upon hearing her subordinate's report, my mom could only lead the team back to the station.

In the evening, Forensic Examiner Jean worked overtime.

The detailed autopsy report came out early the next morning.

"The victim was a woman between 23 and 26 years old, who had suffered inhumane torture in life..."

At the meeting, my mom listened to the autopsy report, suddenly pausing for a moment.

Because in two months, I would be turning 25.

"The victim has been dead for ten days, but her family hasn't reported her missing yet."

"Or she may not be a local, check the missing persons reports from other provinces and cities."

Everyone took turns voicing their opinions on the case.

Only my mom seemed a bit distracted throughout.

Ten days ago, the criminals had called her with a ransom demand.

It's just that at the time, she was busy with my sister's wedding preparations.

As soon as the call connected, before the kidnapper could finish, she directly said, "No money, go ahead and kill her."

The call was on speakerphone.

Before I could even call out "Mom", she had already hung up.

I knew she didn't like me, and even though I was terrified at the time, I still made excuses for her.

Fraud calls are rampant these days...

She must have thought it was a fraud case.

...

After the meeting.

As soon as my mom returned to her office, she saw the carnations on her desk.

She immediately relaxed.

Every Mother's Day, I would send her a bouquet of carnations, even though she always ended up throwing them in the trash.

This time was no exception.

Just as she was about to "repeat history", my sister's call suddenly came through.

My mom's mouth immediately curved into a gentle arc, and her voice was a few degrees lighter than usual.

"Sophie."

"Aunt, happy holiday!"

My sister is actually my uncle's daughter.

My aunt died young, and later my uncle went missing. Sophie Smith, three years younger than me, just "entered the hall" and moved into our house.

Don't let her age fool you; she has a really strong vibe of being cunning and manipulative.

"Aunt, did you get the flowers I sent you?"

"Flowers?"

"Yes, a bouquet of carnations, with a greeting card too."

"..."

"I don't have much memory of my mom since she died early. In my heart, I've always seen you as my mom."

This is what you call smooth talk.

From childhood to adulthood, I've been beaten up by her many times.

It was also because of her instigation that I was kicked out of the house at eighteen.

And she, after squatting in, even wanted to "legitimize" her identity.

And my mom, she just ate up her act.

"I've been raising you as my daughter too."

"Aunt, can I call you mom from now on?"

My mom paused for a moment, then smiled and agreed.

"It's just a form of address, call me whatever you want."

"Mom"

"Hmm."

This scene in front of me not only stung my eyes, but also stung my heart.

In my memory, my mom has never been so gentle to me.

Every time I called her, she always had an impatient look on her face.

I suddenly felt like leaving.

The reason my soul followed her back was simply to see if, after learning of my death, she would shed a tear for me.

But clearly, for me to say this, it was probably a pipe dream.

Just as my soul was drifting towards the door, my mom suddenly asked Sophie.

"Have you been in secret contact with Kara?"

Being able to see through people's hearts with just a few words is Sophie's specialty.

"I've been in touch, of course I want Kara to witness my happy moments with me, but she said she's too busy to attend my wedding."

"Was it in the last few days?"

"It's been over ten days."

My mom didn't pursue the question further.

It's just that for the rest of the day, she seemed a bit distracted.

When leaving work in the evening, she even specifically asked the security guard.

"Any packages for me?"

After getting a negative answer, a hint of disappointment flashed in my mom's eyes.

At this moment, I really wanted to tell her.

Mom, my blessings for you will be interrupted from this year on.

I hope you can be as indifferent as before.

But I'm also afraid you'll really not care at all.

...

Three days later, another report came in. The dismembered limbs of a corpse were found in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town.

My mother rushed to the scene immediately.

As I lay there, my limbs already beginning to decay, a putrid stench assaulted my senses long before anyone got close.

My mother fought the urge to gag as she leaned in closer.

The Forensic Examiner was conducting the autopsy while updating her.

"From the cuts on the limbs, it appears to be the same victim as before," she reported.

"The fingerprints are too damaged for identification, and a chunk of flesh has been sliced off the wrist," he continued.

My mother's gaze lingered on my wrist, lost in thought.

There was a scar there—one from boiling water.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out her phone and scrolled to my number.

Her finger hovered over the call button for a long moment, but ultimately, she couldn't bring herself to press it.

"She's built like a bull; even a few people together might not stand a chance against her. How could I think... the victim is her?"

"What did you say, Samantha?"

My mother mumbled so softly that the pathologist, Jean, didn't catch it and asked again.

My mother's expression shifted slightly, betraying her discomfort.

"Nothing," she replied.

At that moment, I felt a strange urge to laugh.

To her, I would always be the one causing trouble.

If Sophie cried, it was surely my fault.

If Sophie got hurt, it was most likely me who did it.

Whenever I got into a fight at school, she never bothered to ask why; she just made me apologize to the other kid.

But I wanted to tell her the truth.

The one who killed me was a trained assassin.

I may have practiced martial arts, but I was no match for him.

When he struck with the knife, he didn't even blink.

The pain of the blade piercing my flesh was excruciating.

...

That day, my mother worked late.

The Forensic Examiner informed her that the victim's fingerprints were too worn to verify her identity.

However, the genetic testing results were in.

They just needed to compare them with the victim's family to confirm her identity.

Yet, no one had come forward to report her missing.

Jean remarked, "This poor girl is so unfortunate; she's been dead for so long, and her family hasn't even noticed. She must not have been valued at home."

My mother awkwardly smiled at that.

As they left the police station, Sophie stepped out of the car and approached my mother.

"Mom!"

My mother quickly composed herself and smiled at Sophie.

"It's so late; why haven't you gone home?"

Sophie linked her arm through my mother's, pouting.

"I want to sleep with you tonight."

"Did you have a fight with your fiancé?"

"No, I just miss you."

At that moment, Jean's phone rang.

She glanced at the caller ID, then waved it at my mother.

"My mom is calling to hurry me home. Bye!"

As my mother stared blankly at her colleague's retreating figure, Sophie pulled her into the car.

She mentioned she had dreamed of her father last night.

The disappearance of my uncle had always been a heavy burden for my mother.

Years ago, my father was accused of having an affair with one of his students, leading to a scandal that caused my uncle to take a stab for him.

Shortly after, my father vanished.

Not long after that, my uncle disappeared too.

My mother believed my father was the reason for my uncle's fate.

Over the years, she transferred her guilt about my uncle onto Sophie while directing her resentment towards me regarding my father.

Even though I was young, I always believed my father was wronged.

But my mother never accepted that.

...

Perhaps thinking of my father made her worries vanish.

That night, she and Sophie lay in bed together, chatting and laughing.

I listened in a self-punishing way, wanting to cry but unable to shed a single tear.

In that moment, they seemed like a real mother and daughter, while I felt like I had always been an outsider.

Suddenly, a sharp ringtone shattered the night, interrupting their conversation.

My mother picked up her phone and saw the name that made her sit up straight: Kara Sinclair.

Kara Sinclair was my name.

...