After the Fake Daughter Faked Her Death and Returned, the Whole Family Went Crazy

On my birthday, while the whole family was celebrating my return to my roots, my fake sister fell off a cliff and was never found again.

Before the funeral, my real parents comforted me, saying, "Everyone has their own fate."

In the days that followed, my real parents often wept bitterly. Eventually, their resentment turned to anger, and it was all directed at me.

At best, they would scold me: “Why did you come back?” At worst, the insults were unbearable, and I was even beaten.

Then, on my twentieth birthday, I was kidnapped and held for ransom. Terrified, I called my parents for help, only for them to respond coldly: “Today is your sister’s birthday and the anniversary of her death. We have no time for you, so stop bothering us.” Then, they hung up the phone.

The kidnappers, undeterred, called back to threaten me, but all they received was a cold hang-up.

In a fit of rage, the kidnappers brutally killed me and discarded my body.

My father, who was investigating my case, didn’t even recognize me.

Later, my fake sister, who had eloped and been deceived, returned, pregnant and broken.

When the family learned that the unclaimed body was mine, they went mad.

…

When my father arrived at the crime scene, I was lying face down in the grass, my features unrecognizable.

A dark sky hung overhead, a murder of crows flying across, and the sharp stench of decay assaulted everyone’s senses.

The rescue team was still searching for any other evidence that might have been left behind.

"Jack, the victim and their belongings will be handed over to the medical examiner for biological tests shortly."

My father nodded and calmly began examining the scene.

"The victim’s left hand is missing a piece of her pinky. The wound appears fresh."

"Quickly check the area to see if the missing pinky finger is nearby."

That night, back home, my father scanned the cold living room and sat down across from my mother at the dinner table.

"Isn’t it a holiday? That dead girl still hasn’t returned?"

Without looking at him, my mother grumbled as she grabbed food and shoved it into her mouth. "Don’t worry about her. I’d rather she never comes back. Don’t even mention her. It’s annoying!" She threw the bowl down onto the table with force and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her to express her frustration.

My father silently looked at the bedroom door, then returned to his meal.

A week had passed, and they still didn’t know why I hadn’t returned.

"Jack, there’s a new lead on the unidentified female body found earlier."

"Wife, I’ve got work to do. I’m leaving."

My father grabbed his coat and car keys as he rushed out the door after receiving the call.

Seeing his urgency, I followed him on impulse.

I knew he wasn’t concerned about me, but rather about the case he was handling.

But still, I wanted to know what his reaction would be when he learned that the body was mine.

"Jack, come look, the victim has red birthmarks on her index and middle fingers."

"The victim was brutally murdered, and her face is unrecognizable, so we can’t identify her features. The birthmarks on her fingers may serve as identifying markers while we search for her family."

Detective Wales handed my father two photos of my hands.

He then changed the subject: "However, we still haven’t found the missing pinky finger, but we’ve contacted all the police officers in the city to help with the search."

Additionally, Detective Wales handed my father a black-wrapped package. "A delivery just came for you. It was specifically for you to sign for, but I sent the courier away."

"A delivery?" My father took the package casually, not thinking much of it, and opened it.

A note flew out from the bottom of the package.

"Here’s your daughter’s belongings, returning them to you!"

Detective Wales picked up the note and read aloud the message.

"Jack, what’s going on with your daughter? This has reached our department now."

"Just a child’s attention-seeking stunt, no need to give her any more thought." My father paused as he opened the package, then tossed it aside without touching it again.

Had he opened it, he would have seen a small piece of a finger—exactly matching the unidentified female body.

"Once the medical examiner’s report is back and it matches the recent missing persons reports, we should be able to identify the victim."

With that, my father and Detective Wales headed to the medical examiner’s office.