Died On The Day My Mother Gave Birth To Her Third Child

When my mother, Nancy Liam Reed, gave birth to the third childmy youngest brotherAustin at the age of forty, the entire family was overjoyed.

But I was being tortured to death at home.

In my final moments, I called my father, Mason Reed, for help: "Dad, I'm dying. Please come and save me…"

But it was my mother's cold voice that came through the phone: "You were born bad and deserve to die. Your father has to take care of your brother. Don't bother him!"

With that, she hung up the phone with a harsh click.

She did everything she could to prevent my father from coming to find me.

Tears streaming down my face, I gave up struggling and succumbed to the knife of my attacker.

On the day my mother finished her postpartum recovery, she found a severed finger in Austin's bathwater.

——

By the time the police arrived at our house, it was already early morning. My father was anxiously asking about the situation.

"Nancy, when did you find this? Was there anything unusual before you discovered it?"

My mother had already calmed down and shook her head. "No, there were no signs."

Hearing this, my father and the police officers with him grew somber.

"Could it be an enemy's provocation again?"

A young officer speculated, causing the atmosphere in the room to drop to freezing.

Both my parents worked at the police station, and over the years, they had faced numerous retaliations.

But this was the first time it had been so direct.

Thinking of this, my father immediately ordered, "We're moving out for the next few days. We must investigate this thoroughly. Such blatant behavior is a severe challenge to police authority!"

After giving the order, everyone began documenting the scene and collecting evidence.

While inspecting the washbasin, a police officer found a bracelet.

"Whose thing is this?"

It was a bracelet with a yellow safety charm, one my father had obtained for me when I was a year old.

"I don't know."

My mother said, averting her eyes in disgust while holding Austin.

As she walked away, she muttered under her breath.

"Tomorrow is my son's fullmonth celebration. What bad luck!"

The officer looked momentarily awkward but still placed the bracelet into an evidence bag.

In less than an hour, the house was thoroughly searched inside and out.

But there was no sign of anything unusual.

For safety, my parents decided to move out.

Before leaving, Uncle Aaron James, a family friend, asked, "What about your daughter? Shouldn't you tell her?"

"Don't mention her in front of me."

My mother said, her eyes filled with undisguised loathing, and walked away.

My father remained silent, only shaking his head and sighing.

"The grudge between them will never be resolved in this lifetime. Don't ask anymore," said my father.

Then he also walked out.

Aaron, aware of our family's situation, could only shake his head and follow them out.

I floated to the side, my heart breaking to numbness.

I knew my mother had likely guessed that the dead person could be me.

But what did it matter? Austin's fullmonth celebration was far more important than my life.

Watching their resolute departure, I touched my chest.

It turned out that even after death, you could still feel heartache.

My parents arrived at another house quickly.

As soon as they entered, Eric rushed up, hugging my mother tightly.

"Mom, are you and Austin okay? I was really scared when I received your call!"

His eyes were red with tears as he looked at my mother.

"We're fine."

My mother gently patted his shoulder and, seeing his slightly thinner cheeks, felt sorry and said, "Mom stayed at the confinement center during this time and neglected you. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay."

Eric shook his head and then looked at the baby in my mother's arms.

The little baby, unaware of what had happened, slept soundly.

Eric couldn't resist poking his little face and laughed, "He looks so much like our brother, Jack."

My mother froze, her eyes instantly welling up with tears.

I originally had an older brother.

But when he was ten, he was killed by enemies while out playing with me. My mother couldn't accept it and nearly had a mental breakdown.

During that time, she often grabbed my neck and asked, "Why wasn't it you who died instead of Jack?"

As a child, I was nearly strangled to death by her many times, always wondering why it wasn't me who had died.

If I had died, I wouldn't have been left to suffer.

But there was no changing the facts.

My mother hated me deeply, and my father also blamed me because of what happened.

It wasn't until they adopted Eric that things slightly improved.

I knew that from the day Jack died, I had lost my entire family.

They were even willing to adopt another child rather than love me, their own daughter.

Now with my little brother, Austin, they didn't care about my life or death at all.

"Yeah, I think so too," said my mother.

Her smile returned when she mentioned Austin.

I glanced from afar; he really did look alike.

It was as if he was born to heal my mother, never crying or fussing, much like Jack, or so I heard.

"He must be Jack reincarnated, choosing you as his mom again," Eric said with a wink. "But I think Lauren looks the most like you."

At the mention of me, my mother's expression turned furious again. "Don't mention her. Ever since her brother was born, she hasn't made a single contact. I don't consider her family anymore!"

Just as she finished speaking, her phone rang suddenly.

The police officer's grave voice came through: "We found some human remains in the water tower on your roof. We need you to come back to the station to assist with the investigation immediately."

After receiving the information, my mother instructed Eric to look after Austin and left for the police station alone.

Unfortunately, she left too quickly to notice the deep look in Eric's eyes as he heard the police's information.

My mother is the best forensic expert in the city. Together with my dad, she has solved countless major criminal cases.

Even though she had just finished her confinement period after giving birth, she quickly got back into work mode as soon as she stepped into the lab.

She changed into her work uniform, focusing intently on the items on the operating table.

I floated in the air, silently observing my broken body, while watching my mother put on gloves and piece me back together, like assembling a puzzle.

Her movements were skilled and professional.

In less than three hours, my body finally started to resemble a human form again.

Some parts had been soaked in water for so long that they looked massive, making it quite challenging to put everything together.

My mother took off her gloves and rubbed her aching forehead.

"Ms. Liam, you should take a break. You've been working for three hours straight," said her assistant.

The assistant Ryan was very considerate and actively suggested that my mother take a rest.

My mother didn't refuse. She let out a long sigh and stepped outside.

After confirming with Eric that Austin was safe, she returned to continue her work.

Ryan had taken over some of the tasks. He pointed at my wrist and said, "Here, there should be a bracelet."

My mother's whole body tensed. She walked over to examine it closely but shook her head.

"This line is too deep; it looks more like it was made by a wire."

Her tone was calm, but her hands trembled slightly.

I knew she must have thought of me.

But it was just a fleeting moment.

After that tremor, she resumed her high level of professionalism.

In less than two hours, she finally finished piecing together the remaining parts.

She took detailed notes and headed to the special investigation team for a report.

"The victim was likely just an adult, with multiple stab wounds. The most critical areas have been damaged beyond recognition by the solution. The relevant data has been handed over to the testing lab, and…"

She paused, her expression filled with disgust. "A heart has been drawn on the victim's body."

At this, all the police officers present gasped in shock.

Especially my father, who slammed his hand on the table in disbelief.

They all knew what that heart symbolized.

Years ago, when Jack was brutally murdered, the killer had also left a heart on his body.

"Could this mean…?"

My father stammered, pointing at the screen. He was about to speak but was sharply interrupted by my mother: "No!"

To divert attention, my mother unleashed a slew of details.

When the images reached the mark on my wrist, the officer who had come to collect evidence at our home suddenly called for a stop.

I suddenly held my breath.

Had they found something?

I have never taken off that bracelet.

If they put it on my wrist, they would surely notice that even though my wrist was swollen, the area covered matched perfectly with the back of the bracelet.

The officer suggested this, but my mother quickly countered.

"The marks are too deep, how could it be from the bracelet?"

"Give it a try."

The police proposed, but my mother's face suddenly changed.

Because they didn't know that while they were looking for other evidence, she had already disposed of that bracelet.

The investigation hit a stalemate.

Finally, the lead officer made a decision: "Let's start with a DNA test and have the sketch artist depict the victim's appearance. Whoever it is, we will get to the bottom of this!"

Because of an officer's suspicion, both my parents looked grim when they left the office.

When getting on the car, my father received a phone call.

It was from my homeroom teacher Alice. They didn't communicate much, so my father looked a bit flustered.

My mother turned her head away, not wanting to look at him.

"Hello, I'm calling about Lauren. Has she been in touch with you? I've been unable to reach her."

Alice sounded worried. Over the years, she had taken good care of me, treating me like her own daughter, and she was the only one I felt any semblance of familial love from.

"May I ask if there is something wrong?" asked my father.

"Oh, yes. Today is the deadline for filling out college applications, and the school has reported that Lauren hasn't submitted hers yet. Please remind her to do so quickly; she has good grades and shouldn't waste this opportunity."

My father kept agreeing and then hung up to drive.

"Nancy, call Lauren."

My mother glared at him angrily and said loudly, "What's the use of asking me when you don't even know where your own daughter is?"

"Is she only my daughter?" my father's voice rose sharply. "You've ignored her for years. That incident happened ten years ago—do you still hate her that much?"

His outburst was frantic, but it didn't earn him a word of concession from my mother.

"I don't care, you have to call her!"

This time, my father's tone was firm, and my mother finally looked a bit intimidated.

She opened her contacts and dialed my number.

Unfortunately, after three unanswered calls, she hung up in frustration.

"Who knows where she's gone now?"

She fumed, getting out of the car.

I followed behind, tears streaming down my face.

This time, I was truly dead—my body was right in front of them.

In despair, I thought, just recognize me already. Burn my remains and scatter them.

Anything would be better than being part of this family.

Lost in thought, more tears rolled down my cheeks.

Just then, I heard my father's phone ring.

The sketch artist's panicked voice came through: "Mr. Reed, you need to come back! We've restored the victim's appearance—it's your daughter Lauren!"