I am Dead, But My Love for You Remains

The day after we got engaged, John Miller broke up with me.

When I reached out for help, he was partying with his girlfriend.

He snapped, "Yara, you’re still not good enough compared with Natalie. Stop calling me and annoying me."

I cried and begged them to leave the baby in my belly alone.

That night, John was called back to the police station.

He had never failed in any case he took on, but he didn’t realize that the body lying next to him was mine.

What he dissected with his own hands were our unborn children.

1

My body was found in an abandoned factory, naked, my white shirt stained scarlet

The factory gate stood open, and inside, flies buzzed everywhere.

Two stray dogs wandered around the desolate place.

My skin had suffered extensive damage, especially around my abdomen, where our children should have been. Especially the abdomen.

My child used to be there.

My pitiful corpse was placed on the dissection table.

John, the best forensic scientist in the criminal investigation unit, was back too.

His face was flushed, and he still looked drunk.

Didn't we agree that we would never see each other again?

'John, here we are, meeting again.'

"The victim suffered extremely severe torture before death, with significant damage to the skin tissue. The identity of the deceased is currently unknown," John announced.

John put on gloves and gently touching my lips.

He always said he liked my lips.

At first, I didn't understand why, until I saw a photo of Natalie.

Then it made sense.

My lips were 80% similar to hers.

John's hands trembled as he stroked my lips.

Did you recognize me, John?

His hands shook uncontrollably, prompting his forensic colleague to ask.

"John, what’s wrong with you?"

"The victim’s jaw is dislocated, her brow bone shattered, and there are fatal injuries to her abdomen. Those guys were worse than animals," John replied.

Yes, my upper and lower lips are misaligned now.

'But isn't this your favorite mouth, John? Don’t you recognize it?'

"Have you tested the baby's DNA?" a colleague asked.

"Yes, it’s hers," came the response.

John was silent again.

What are you thinking about, John?

Are you sympathizing with me and our child?

This baby is yours too.

"This is the worst case in our city in the past twelve years. John, give your fiancée a call."

John blurted out, "I don't have a fiancée."

"Ah, are you so busy that you lost your mind? Didn't you just get engaged on the holiday? I was there at the party."

John took off his gloves with a calm expression.

"We broke up."

The forensic doctor beside him looked at John in surprise.

"Are you crazy? Just one day later, you told me you broke up? You two have been together since college, and she likes you so much! No wonder... No wonder Yara didn't come to see you today."

Yes, every afternoon, I would wait at the door of the Criminal Investigation Team with my lunch box in hand.

"We broke up, so of course she won't come."

"Are you sure you've broken up? I'm going to chase her."

John just glanced at the person next to him.

Another forensic doctor found clues on me.

"Stop talking, there's a clue!"

John and several others immediately surrounded me.

"What's wrong?"

The forensic doctor handed over a photo.

"John, you were careless this time. This photo was held in the deceased's hand."

Oh, that’s a photo of John and me.

'John, if you realize it’s me lying here, what will you do?'

'Will you be angry, happy or excited?'

'That difficult fiancée who always troubled you is gone now.'

"The face in the photo is blurry, but the clothes look like ours," someone remarked.

"The tech team is working to enhance the image as fast as possible. Meanwhile, we’ll wait for family members to come forward," another added.

I sighed—it was so close.

Just then, Natalie walked in.

She wore something stylish and chic, a stark contrast to my usual sporty attire.

She handed John a lunch box with a smile.

John took it.

"Things have been a bit rough lately. Stay safe and avoid going out too much," John cautioned.

"Sure. By the way, here’s the ring you asked for. Do you still want it?"

Natalie asked, holding a familiar ring box. I remember that style.

John showed it to me once, excitedly asking which one I liked.

I chose that one.

How ironic! It was our wedding ring, and his mistress was holding it now.

"No need," John replied. "You can keep it."

Natalie lung to John’s arm, pouting playfully.

"Put it on for me."

She extended her finger, and John slipped the ring on, granting her request.

John, what did our eight years together mean to you?

That was supposed to be our wedding ring.

"Is Yara here?" came a voice.

It was John’s good friend, Michael.

He peered outside, trying to spot me.

"Is Yara still not here?" he asked.

John frowned. "Yara, I consider you a brother, so stop bringing up Yara."

"But you two have been together for eight years," Michael protested.

"I'm tired of it," John replied.

After sending Natalie away, John turned to leave, but Michael grabbed him by the collar.

"John, Yara has done so much for you! Remember, her father died saving you from a bullet!"

Yes, my father was also a forensic doctor.

During a mission, he took a bullet meant for John.

My father's dying wish was for John to take good care of me.

John had cried bitterly and promised my father he would always cherish me.

But now, here I was, unrecognizable and stripped of everything, even our children.

"Michael, weren't you the one who disliked Yara the most? I broke up with her; you should be happy," John retorted.

"But you were together for eight years!" Michael exclaimed.

"So what?"

John snapped, pushing Zheng Nan aside and heading back inside. "I need to conduct a second autopsy to check for more clues."

"Did you know Yara is pregnant?" Michael asked.

John suddenly stopped, and John's tired eyes sharpened, fixing on Michael like a hawk.

"What did you just say?"

"You didn’t know? She didn’t want to stress you out and planned to tell you after the engagement. But it looks like you didn't deserve that."

Michael pushed past John and walked straight in.

John stayed outside, lighting a cigarette.

He took out his phone, unsure whether to call or not. Eventually, he went back in.

He approached my body, setting down his scalpel and just stared.

There were no new clues to find.

Michael came in with some documents. "Any new leads?" he asked.

John shook his head.

Michael glanced at the baby next to me. "He would be the same age as your child."

After saying that, Michael went out.

John’s knife remained poised in midair.

He was right.

This child would have been the same age as ours.

Because, he was our child.

Finally, John spoke, and his eyes filled with unexpected tears.

"I don't know if I'll ever get to see our child again," John said.

'But John, you did see him.'

'The child in front of you is ours.'

After stepping out, everyone continued analyzing the case.

But John wasn’t himself.

"John, do you have anything to add?" someone asked.

John shook his head. "Hasn’t the family come to claim the body yet?"

"No, not yet."

"How could they be so careless? Whose wife, sister, or daughter is she? Don't they even know she's missing?"

John exclaimed, throwing his cup in frustration.

'I have no family left.'

'If anyone could claim my body, it would be you, John.'

'My father entrusted me to you before he died.'

'Who else would come but you?'

And my mother, who became blind because of too much crying.

She wouldn’t be able to see to recognize me now.

She cried until her eyes went blind because of her father's death.

I dared not think what would happen to her after I died.

If possible, I hope my mother would never come to claim me.

"Has the photo been restored?" someone asked.

"Not yet, but it should be done tonight."

"I see," John replied quietly.

Michael walked out, looking for me. John was smoking on the side.

But I couldn’t answer him.

He tried calling several times, but no one picked up.

John grabbed the phone and hit the hangup button.

"Why are you calling her? She won’t answer," he said.

He was right. I wouldn’t answer.

Michael sent me a message, warning me to be careful.

But I never replied.

"When I used to message Yara, she’d reply within seconds or at least within a few minutes. Now, it's been two hours and nothing."

Michael noted, shifting his focus to the child.

He picked up the halfdestroyed photo again.

"John, have you tested the DNA?"

John snatched the photo from Michael.

"Are you done yet? Are you sick or something? Michael, are you out of your mind?"

“How old is the victim?” Michael asked.

"Twentyseven," John responded.

"Yara is twentyseven too, right?" Michael stared into John’s eyes.

John snorted dismissively, "Don’t scare yourself. Look at this," he said, holding a piece of information.

It was a ticket for a trip out of the province that I had bought for the holiday.

But he was wrong.

I never got on that bus.

I was taken hostage on my way to the station.

"She should have left for holiday, and should be celebrating on some beach right now. All she ever did was remind me of her father’s sacrifice. I’ve taken care of her for years. I think I've repaid the favor by now."

So, this is how you see me, John.

Your kindness was just out of guilt for my father.

You think I’m a hypocrite who repaid favors poorly.

Was our engagement just your way of settling a debt?

Michael punched John in the face.

"You’re a piece of shit. Yara was blind to fall for someone like you."

"What’s it to you? This is between me and Yara," John snapped.

"You better hope the person lying here isn’t Yara! If this was your fiancée and child, would you still say such awful things? You should be ashamed when you visit Captain Garcia's grave."

Michael retorted before storming out.

He sat in front of his computer, eyes glued to the progress of the photo restoration.

"Yara's mother is here!"

Someone shouted. Michael and John both came out immediately.

The guard was helping my mother in.

Her hair had turned gray around her temples, and she was wearing the floral jacket my father had bought her.

My mother had aged so much these past years.

She walked unsteadily, as if she might fall at any moment.

"Mrs. Garcia, why are you here?" someone asked.

"Where's John?" she replied, looking around anxiously.

"I'm here," John said softly.

Mom took John's hand, and Michael observed them with a thoughtful expression.

"Has Yara been with you lately? It's my birthday today. I waited for her all day, but she never came back. Yesterday, she said she would take me on a trip..." Mom's voice trailed off.

Michael gently pushed John aside and stepped closer to my mother.

"Mrs. Garcia, I’m Michael, Yara’s friend. Do you remember me?"

"Yes, yes, I do!" she replied.

"Mrs. Garcia, Yara didn’t come home yesterday, did she? She booked a ticket to the beach but didn’t get on the bus, right?"

Were they finally piecing it together?

For the sake of our child, John should at least buy me a grave.

Would he bury me next to my father?

But then, would I owe him another favor?

Forget it then.

Maybe it was best to leave things unsettled.

After all, in death, did it matter where we rest?

"Yara hasn't come back yet. She was supposed to pick me up last night. Isn’t she here? I thought she was with John," my mother said, confused.

"Did she..."

Michael began, but John interrupted, shoving him aside.

"Michael, what are you trying to say? Do you think the body lying there is Yara's? She values her life more than anyone. Maybe she’s just off somewhere, eating, drinking, and having fun."

Everyone stared at John, and he grew irritated under their gazes.

"Fine, you don’t believe me? Let’s go see for ourselves," John snapped.

He grabbed my mother and stormed inside.

My mother's crutches fell off.

"Touch her, touch her, is this your daughter?"

Behind John were all criminal police.

They all looked at my mother nervously.

John ripped the white sheet off my body. The bright lights in the room made the scene even harsher.

didn’t want my mother to see me like this.

John, how could you?

"Is this Yara?" John asked.

My mother reached out and touched me, her hands trembling.

Having been married to a forensic doctor, she must have known what this place was.

As I silently thanked fate that my mother couldn’t see, her hand brushed against my bracelet.

That was...given to me by my mother.

She began to cry, and John looked away, swallowing hard.

"Why are you crying? Really, why did I bring a blind woman in here? Take her out."

John said, rubbing his forehead as he walked out.

"Your daughter isn't here, go home."

But my mother’s sobs grew louder.

"No, my daughter is right here," she insisted.

My heart sank.

My mother had recognized me.

John tried to drag her away.

"What nonsense are you talking about? You can't even see anything. Get out of here," he said harshly.

But my mother clung to the dissecting table, refusing to leave. Her eyes were wide open, desperate for one last look at me.

I know that my mother wants to see me for the last time.

'Mother, I don’t want you to see me like this.'

John continued to pull her away, but she held on tightly, her nails digging into the table so hard that her fingertips began to bleed.