They Rewrote My Memories to Bury Her Murder

After speaking, she turned to look at me again. “Elisa must just be under too much pressure lately. Mom believes that one day, you'll remember your mother.”

Her voice trembled, tears glistening in her eyes, heavy with feigned grievance.

But I felt nothing. No pity. No softness.

“Stop pretending. You're not my mother at all.”

The moment the words left my mouth, her tears spilled as if on cue.

Dad shot me a cold, disapproving glare, then quietly wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her out.

I heard him whisper to her in the hallway.

“Don’t cry. Even if you won’t think about yourself, think about the baby in your belly.”

“Elisa will regret this. She will.”

She was pregnant.

That so-called good news had been announced during my college acceptance banquet.

Everyone was celebrating Dad’s double joy.

But their happiness didn’t last because the police showed up.

I had called them.

At the police station, I laid out all the suspicions that had been gnawing at me for weeks.

The officers exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions difficult to read.

They took one tube of blood from me and another from Lila.

I knew it was for a maternity DNA test.

As I waited, cold anticipation stirred within me, I imagined the moment I would finally tear her lies apart with the truth.

But the result struck like a thunderbolt.

The genetic match between me and her exceeded 99.99%.

“Impossible!”

“She’s not my mother!”

The male officer looked toward the female officer.

She came to my side, placed a light hand on my shoulder, and offered a calm, almost pitying smile.

“We went through every traffic accident from three years ago. There was no record of a victim named Lila. Not even the driver you described could be found.”

“Your family mentioned you’ve been under immense pressure with your exams. We do have access to professional psychological counseling here.”

Before I could respond, they took me to the counseling room, without even asking me.

Staring at that DNA report, even I began to doubt myself.

Had I really been so overwhelmed that I imagined everything?

But Lila was pregnant. And I remembered clearly that after giving birth to me, Mom had undergone sterilization.

It had caused a huge fight between my parents and my grandparents.

They had argued bitterly, blaming her for not being able to bear grandchildren.

They hadn’t even attended her funeral.

Grandpa and Grandma. They had to remember that!

They had surprisingly agreed to attend my college banquet this time, but their flight had been delayed.

“I don’t need psychological counseling!”

I suddenly stood up and shouted as the psychologist continued speaking gently.

She was clearly startled.

“I’m sorry, doctor. There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said, bowing slightly.

Then I turned and ran out of the police station.

When I arrived home, breathless and anxious, I saw Grandpa and Grandma sitting quietly on the living room sofa.

When they saw me, they gave me a faint smile, gentle, distant, the kind elders offer when words are few.

They didn’t ask how I’d been, didn’t start with small talk.

But somehow, that silence warmed my chest more than any words could.

I clutched Grandma’s hand tightly, like I was drowning and she was the only thing keeping me afloat.

“Grandpa, Grandma… you remember Mom passed away three years ago, don’t you?”

I searched their faces with trembling hope.

“She had that sterilization surgery. The doctor said she could never have children again. You were furious. You even tried to make Dad divorce her. When he didn’t, you left and went back to the countryside. You didn’t even come to Mom’s funeral. You remember that, right?”

I stared at them, my voice thin with desperation.

But what they said next shattered everything I thought I knew.