Mother's Remorse After My Death

When I was murdered and dismembered, my mom was celebrating with her adopted son, who scored 300 points on the college entrance exam.

The killer, wanting to mock me, made me call my mom before I died.

My tongue had been ripped out, and I was in so much pain that I couldn't speak.

As a forensic doctor, my mom didn't notice anything unusual and impatiently scolded me, "Get lost! Don't pretend to be deaf and dumb here. If you have the guts to die, do it outside. Just don't let me see you again."

That night, the plastic bag containing my body parts was sent to the police station.

She was urgently called back, pieced together the shattered remains, and calmly analyzed the cause of death.

She concluded that the victim had suffered inhumane torture before dying, but she didn't realize that the dead body was her most hated son.

***

After I was dismembered, the killer sent parts of my body to the police station cafeteria.

Fortunately, the experienced chef noticed something was off and immediately reported it to the higher-ups.

Preliminary identification confirmed that it was human tissue.

Faced with such a blatant provocation, the entire police station was engulfed in a sense of dread.

Captain Lynn quickly led a team to seal off the cafeteria, where they found two large bags filled with meat chunks in the kitchen.

Even the seasoned detectives couldn't hold back their nausea after seeing the meat.

For the entire week that followed, the smell of meat made them feel sick.

As the most senior female forensic doctor in the department, my mom was urgently called back.

She rushed to the police station, asking as she walked, "Captain Lynn, what's going on? Where was the body found?"

Captain Lynn's face was pale, his brow furrowed. "An hour ago, the cafeteria chef noticed something strange while cooking, and it has been confirmed to be human limbs."

Mom nodded gravely.

After changing into her uniform, she skillfully unpacked the meat from the bags, laying it out on the autopsy table.

Looking at that pile of flesh made my whole body tremble uncontrollably, as if I were still enduring that torturous experience.

A few hours later, mom pieced the chunks together, her eyes filled with a mix of reluctance and sorrow. "Preliminary observations indicate the victim was male, aged between 18 and 20, and had died less than 24 hours ago."

"Additionally, the victim had multiple fractures and external injuries, suggesting he had suffered significant torture before his death."

Hearing mom's conclusion, Captain Lynn's expression darkened, and after a long pause, he spat out through gritted teeth, "Bastard!"

Suddenly, mom froze, her sharp gaze fixated on a spot on the corpse's left arm.

My heart raced.

Was she about to make a connection?

I had a black mole in the same spot on my left arm as she did.

Noticing her intense focus, Captain Lynn asked nervously, "What's wrong? Did you find something?"

Mom snapped back to reality and hesitated before shaking her head, "Nothing!"

I let out a bitter smile.

I should have seen this coming. Ever since she kicked me out of the house when I was ten, she hadn't looked me in the eye, and perhaps she had long forgotten about me.