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A Mother's Final Portrait Novel Cover

A Mother's Final Portrait

Jessica's mother, a renowned police portrait artist, prioritizes her other daughter's celebration over a desperate plea for help. Dismissing her child's kidnapping as a cruel prank, she refuses to intervene, leading to Jessica's brutal death. When tasked with reconstructing a victim's face from remains, the mother is horrified to see her own daughter's features emerge. This modern horror mystery follows a woman's descent into guilt as she realizes her hatred cost her daughter's life.
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Chapter 3

Frustration

After Yvonne moved her present into her room, she chirped happily, "Can you come with me on the graduation trip, Mom?" She took out her phone and presented her proposal. There, she had a list of all the cities she wanted to see.

Yvonne chirped and happily introduced all the spots on the list. My mother seemed a little out of it. She stared at the phone, her brows furrowed. Yvonne called out to her, but she said nothing.

A few times later, she started tearing up, and her voice cracked, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't do this. Jessica's still brooding. I can't think about the trip."

My mother snapped out of it and felt her heart ache seeing her beloved daughter cry. So, she hastily hugged Yvonne and cooed, "This isn't your fault. Jessica is just being a child."

"However, I just got a call." Mom said hesitantly, "My colleagues said they found a female corpse in a dumpster about six miles away. They've determined that it's an abduction and murder case. Do you think it could be your sister?"

Yvonne held my mother's hand. Then, she said with a furrow between her brow, "Why don't we call her?"

My mother called me. A few moments later, the call was cut off. She looked like someone was choking her, and her eyes went wide with fury. "I knew she was lying about the abduction!"

A smile flickered in Yvonne's eyes, but she tried to placate my mother, "Calm down, Mom. She's probably just mad."

"Ignore her. It's none of our business even if she dies!"

I turned around and looked at my mother's face closely, trying to find a shred of concern for me, but there was none. The sudden disconnected call from "me" only fueled her frustration and dislike for me.

She thought I was a liar who would do anything to ruin my sister's big day. Although I was only a spirit, I was apparently capable of tears still. After a while, I laughed and demanded, "Have you never loved me, Mom? If you hate me so much, why'd you give birth to me?"

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