Murdered, but My Cop Mom Thought I Ran Away

My cousin lowered her gaze, and tears the size of pearls rolled down her face. “Mom, Kara keeps saying I’m a demon.”

A sharp pain pierced my chest. There she went again, putting on that same fake, delicate act again.

However, Mom always fell for it. Every time she did, I was the one who ended up getting scolded.

Wendy glanced at Mom's darkening expression, and a glint of satisfaction flickered in her eyes. She had long since replaced me, becoming the only daughter in Mom's heart.

Even the blood bond between Mom and me could be easily twisted apart by her.

One time, Wendy led me to my deranged admirer. She knew exactly what would happen to me, yet she did it anyway. Of course, she had nothing to fear. In Mom’s eyes, she was always an innocent, kind-hearted daughter.

The moment Wendy came into our home, I did not just lose Dad. I lost Mom as well.

Wendy bit her lower lip. Her face was deathly pale, pitiful enough to make anyone’s heart ache. “Mom, is it because I accidentally broke Kara’s doll that she still hates me?”

I stared at Mom’s face at the mention of the doll.

It was a fabric doll Dad, Mom, and I had made together when he was still alive.

However, Mom softened instantly when she looked at Wendy’s reddened nose and misty eyes. “Wendy, you didn’t mean to. It's Kara who’s being petty. I’ve already taught her a lesson. When she comes home, I’ll make her apologize to you. You can decide how she makes it up to you.”

Wendy understood Mom’s temper too well. She could easily stir her anger again with just a few words. “Mom, Kara isn’t the type to apologize easily. All these years, she hasn’t even said sorry to Uncle Damian.”

Mom’s breathing grew heavier. Her lips pressed into a tight line as anger flickered in her eyes.

The rage I had been holding back surged up inside me. That scheming woman still had the nerve to mention Dad!

After I rejected the deranged admirer, she even smiled and said to me, “Kara, I think you two are actually pretty compatible. Why don’t you just marry him?”

I wore a look of restrained anger. My tone was cold as ice. “If you’re so eager to get married, why don’t you accept his confession yourself?”

Wendy raised an eyebrow, flipped her curled hair over her shoulder, and sneered,

“Kara, stop pretending. You know exactly how much Mom hates you. If I were you, I would’ve been too ashamed to stay in this house a long time ago.”

Her father was an alcoholic who abused her mother. After her parents divorced, he took revenge by running her mother over with a car.

I had always felt there was something twisted about her, but she hid it well. She was jealous of my happy family and wanted to replace me, to become part of it herself.

She succeeded.

Mom, moved by her fragility and pitiful act, trusted and pitied her completely.

My gaze turned icy as I looked at her. “The blood ties between Mom and me can never be severed. You’re nothing but a pathetic clown.”

My words enraged her. She picked up scissors and began cutting the cotton doll—the one Dad, Mom, and I had made together. It was the last thing Dad had left me and the last remaining memory of our family.

My face flushed with anger. I grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it at her.

A surge of satisfaction rose in my chest when I saw the blood at her temple. All the years of humiliation and lies she had inflicted on me finally erupted.

However, a sudden force struck me. I was shoved down onto the shattered glass.