My Stepsister Claimed She Was Psychic and Stole My Work

After leaving the scene, I didn’t go home, nor did I return to work. Instead, I checked into the nearest hotel.

By then, the incident had completely blown up online.

Lesley was being hailed as a psychic with divine gifts—a beautiful, kind-hearted angel.

Praises flooded on every platform. Even several international brands had reached out, offering her ambassador deals.

As for me—I was being torn to shreds.

My father had already posted a public statement across every social media platform, formally disowning me.

Just like last time.

And then—the moment that truly crushed me came.

A group of internet users had found my mother’s gravesite.

They were now openly discussing their plans to dig up her ashes.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

I logged into my social media account and uploaded an audio recording I’d been holding onto.

Thankfully, in this life, I had prepared some evidence.

The recording was of my private conversation with the elderly woman by the river.

The condition I’d asked of her was for her to take back the thirty thousand dollars in fees.

I offered to help locate the body for free, making it clear that I couldn’t guarantee success.

With that, the accusation that I had extorted money in exchange for retrieving a corpse—collapsed entirely.

I thought, with the truth out, the public would finally calm down.

But I underestimated them.

Instead of justice, a new wave of mockery and hatred erupted.

“This recording is fake for sure. You expect us to believe a money-grubbing fraud like her would work for free?”

“Who knows when that audio was recorded? For all we know, Leizl staged the whole thing—found some random old lady to play aalong with.”

Even some of the corpse retrieval team members started livestreaming, fueling the flames.

One said bluntly, “Leizl always took payment. Suddenly doing it for free? I don’t buy it. Sounds shady as hell.”

The situation spiraled completely out of control.

That night, risking everything, I snuck to the cemetery and retrieved my mother’s ashes with my own hands.

By dawn, I sent an email to my workplace requesting a long leave of absence.

Then I headed south—back to my mother’s hometown—carrying her urn close to my chest.

My mother was from the south, raised in a scholarly family.

For love, she had left everything behind and followed my father to the north.

After her passing, my grandmother wanted to bring her home to be buried. But my mother left a will: she wanted to be buried in the city where my father lived.

Even in death, she wished to stay close to him.

But less than a month after her funeral, my father married Ophelia, who was already pregnant.

Soon after, Lesley was born.

If I count the days—Ophelia must have already been carrying that child while my mother was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life.

The night my mother died, she had refused to close her eyes, waiting for one last glimpse of my father.

But he never came.

He must’ve been with Ophelia that night.

Now that I’m grown up—and cast out by the very man she loved—I’ve decided to bring her home.

If my mother’s spirit was watching me now, I know she would understand. She would support me.

On the road back, I posted a statement online.

[From this day forward, I am officially withdrawing from the corpse retrieval team. I will no longer participate in any body recovery operations.]

Let Lesley keep copying me. Now that I’ve stepped away, let’s see what she’s really capable of.

If she truly has psychic powers, she’ll be fine. If not—she’ll be exposed, sooner or later.

Unsurprisingly, my announcement became trending news—and once again, I was targeted by relentless hate.

[Quit the team? What a joke. She was already fired!]

[How thick can someone’s skin get?]

[Anyone want to crowdfund a good slap across Leizl’s face?]

I only glanced at the comments before shutting it all off.

Because I finally arrived.

I had stepped onto my mother’s homeland—and standing there, waiting to greet me—was my grandmother.