Murdered, but My Cop Mom Thought I Ran Away

The palm of my hand was cut open, and blood would not stop flowing.

Mom’s voice, thick with anger, rang in my ears. “Kara, I knew it. You’ve always been cruel at heart!”

Mom still would not listen to a word I said. In her eyes, everything I did was wrong. It was just like how she was convinced I was constantly bullying Wendy, that poor, fragile girl.

However, even if I wanted to explain everything, to talk to her properly about all the years of pain and injustice, there was no way I could do it anymore.

I was already dead, killed by Wendy. Pain surged through me, and it felt as though my soul itself was being torn apart.

No matter how much Mom scolded me, I would not be able to answer her. I would no longer be able to quietly leave her gifts to try to fix our broken relationship. All I could do now was lie in the cold morgue, hoping that she would recognize my body and seek justice for me.

…

Just as Mom was about to open the fridge to cook, Officer Zane’s call pulled her back to the police station.

I wondered if she would blame me. After all, my death was ruining the time she could be spending with Wendy.

Officer Zane held up a transparent evidence bag and handed it to her. “Moira, this was found by forensics. There’s a receipt inside the victim’s coat pocket.”

The receipt was stained heavily with blood. Mom lifted it under the light and examined it carefully. Slowly, she read out the store name, “Ethera Boutique…”

A wave of bitter grief surged up my throat. I had gone there to get Mom's birthday gift.

Just then, her phone rang. A gentle female voice came through. “Hello, may I ask if you know Ms. Kara Summers?”

Mom clicked her tongue and answered impatiently, “Yes. Has she caused trouble again?”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, the voice hesitated. “She picked up the dress she ordered, but she left behind an accessory. We can’t reach her, and you're her listed emergency contact.”

Mom was confused and replied, “I’ll come by tomorrow. Can you give me the address…”

She wrote it down as she spoke.

Officer Zane’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Moira, that address matches the one on the receipt!”

Mom shrugged indifferently. “Probably just a popular shop. What is Kara even up to this time?”

However, Officer Zane shook his head. “You should call her. Check if she’s safe. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Mom frowned in annoyance. “Wesley, why are you so worried about her? Right now, identifying the victim is what matters most.”

She was so close to the truth yet still so far from me.

She was such an exceptional criminal psychologist. How could she so instinctively overlook the boutique? Perhaps it was because she had always hated everything connected to me.

On the back of the receipt, I had written the pickup date. Yet Mom could not recognize my handwriting.

Officer Zane asked her, “Can you infer the victim’s profile from the handwriting?”

Mom’s tone softened as she shifted into professional mode. “The victim likely has large eyes, a high nose bridge, and a slender build. Probably around 5'4". She comes from a good family. From the handwriting, she seems gentle and kind, yet emotionally suppressed. She lacks security and feels lonely.”

She paused for a moment. Was it because the reconstructed image of the victim looked like me?

She could analyze a victim's mind…