When I Died, My Father was with His Adopted Daughter

I followed Dad back home, and the warm decorations inside made me sigh.

Compared to the single bedroom I usually rented, this place felt like another world.

Yet beneath this cozy atmosphere lay the deep pain in my heart.

Since I turned eighteen, Dad had urged me to be independent, eventually pushing me out of the house.

“You’re an adult now; it’s time to move out. It’s a kindness to have supported you until 18 in your mother’s name, so don’t come looking for me again!”

I struggled to make ends meet on my university scholarship, barely scraping by each month.

This home had long ceased to be a refuge; it had become a distant dream.

Dad’s attitude toward my sister was completely different; he spoiled her just as he always had.

He had once said in front of me, “Even if your sister never works a day in her life, I’ll take care of her forever.”

Bitterly, I had asked, “What about me, Dad?”

He’d frowned. “What right do you have? You took your mother’s life; you don’t deserve anything.”

His words pierced my heart deeply, leaving me with endless sorrow and loss.

In this family environment, I felt like an abandoned orphan, overwhelmed by a sadness with nowhere to go.

As Dad walked through the door, my sister joyfully greeted him. Dad ruffled her hair affectionately before heading into the kitchen to cook.

Seeing my sister suddenly triggered a flood of memories.

I covered my head, overwhelmed by the rush of recollections, my heart filled with shock.

While helping Dad wash vegetables, my sister asked about the case, “Dad, any updates on the case? Have they caught the killer?”

Dad was a bit surprised. “When did you start caring about cases? You usually find them disgusting when I talk about them.”

My sister’s expression was slightly awkward. “Well, it’s in the news now. I’m worried since it’s getting a lot of attention.”

Dad patted her head reassuringly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart; I’m fine. This case is a rare dismemberment case, so it might take some time.”

“Oh, okay. Has the victim’s identity been confirmed yet?” she asked, anxious – was she worried for the victim or herself?

“Not yet. The DNA test has been done; we should have results by tonight.”

Listening to their conversation, I suddenly remembered that my sister had called me to come to the place where I was murdered.

A wave of panic swept over me; could it be that this was all orchestrated by her? Was she the mastermind behind it all?

My heart raced, and a wave of intense nausea washed over me.

I tried to say something, but only bitter bile rose in my throat.

I doubled over, vomiting uncontrollably.

I wondered why, after all the love my sister received from Dad, she would deceive me like this.

I recalled when she called me, saying Dad needed to see me, and I was excited enough to take a day off to meet him because it was my birthday.

I thought Dad had finally forgiven me and wanted to celebrate, but it was all a delusion – he hadn’t called me; my sister had set me up to die!

At that moment, when the killer had let his guard down, I called Dad, but he didn’t give me a chance to speak, only saying, “I’m celebrating your sister’s birthday; I’ll talk to you later.”

Before he hung up, I heard a lively scene on the other end, with someone singing happy birthday to my sister.

On my end, the killer heard my movement and kicked me to the ground, and I spat blood.

I remembered a childhood incident when Jerry bought each of us a candy.

My sister finished hers first while I hesitated to eat mine. Seeing I wasn’t eating, she complained to Dad, claiming I stole her candy.

“Dad, Jenny stole my candy!” she pointed at me.

Dad’s face darkened slightly. “Jenny, why did you take your sister’s candy again?”

I quickly defended myself. “Dad, I didn’t steal it. Jerry gave it to me; my sister finished hers. I just didn’t want to eat it yet.”

But Dad didn’t believe me. “Stop lying! You’re not just a disaster; you’re a liar too! Give your sister her candy back.”

I looked at Dad helplessly, filled with grievance.

No matter how I explained, he wouldn’t believe me, so I could only watch as my sister triumphantly took my candy.

Even after Jerry clarified that we each received our candy, Dad still said, “If Ann wants it, her sister should let her have it. She really is a stingy little brat, a disaster.”