Their Forgotten Daughter

Chapter 4

Mom passed the crumpled, bile-stained paper to the forensic specialist, her shoulders sagging under an invisible burden.

"Please tell me this leads somewhere," she whispered, her voice strained. "Did you remind Isabella to lock up?"

Dad gave a distracted nod, his eyes glued to his phone screen, lips pressed into a thin line. "Sweetheart, Evelyn still isn’t picking up, and Daniel’s gone radio silent too. Do you think—should I send someone to check on them?"

Mom cut him off sharply. "Stop. You know how she is. She’s hiding, waiting for us to chase her down. This isn’t new."

"She’s probably dodging Isabella’s match," Mom added, arms crossed tight over her chest. "By tomorrow, she’ll call, sobbing like nothing happened."

The bitterness in her voice was familiar—too familiar. I remembered the last time I vanished. Isabella locked me in the school bathroom during summer break.

The halls were deserted. No one heard my screams.

I clawed my way out, ankle twisted, clothes filthy, skin bruised. I limped home, only to be met with Dad’s stinging slap and Mom’s razor-edged words.

"Isabella saw you with some lowlife at a motel? Is this what I raised?"

I had no defense. I just stood there, watching Isabella smirk behind their backs, savoring my suffering.

Daniel, as always, tried to soothe me. He dabbed at my cuts, voice gentle. "Mom and Dad love you. They just... don’t know how to say it."

But I knew the truth. I’d never get the love Isabella did.

The family’s affection always tilted toward her. Always her. Never me.

If I were still alive, I’d be the one making sure Mom and Dad had a hot meal after their long shifts.

But I’m not. Now I’m just a ghost, lingering in the shadows.

The team identified the paper as a store receipt. The killer had forced it into my mouth, laughing as I choked. "Bought this for your parents? They’ll just toss it out."

Dad frowned at the receipt. "Where’s this from?"

The specialist traced the details. "A shop that sells peace charms and lucky pouches."

When my parents and the officers entered the shop, the woman behind the counter startled.

She checked the receipt, flipping through her records. "A girl came in recently. Said she was buying these for her parents—dangerous jobs, she said. But she never picked them up, and no one could reach her."

She handed over two crimson pouches, voice hushed. "They’re meant to bring peace, happiness, and long life."

Dad exhaled roughly, dragging a hand through his hair. He took the pouches with a grimace. "Do you have security footage from that day?"

The woman nodded. "Yes. She was quiet, took her time choosing. Said they were for her parents."

When the footage played, the room went dead silent.

Mom’s voice broke as she stared at the screen. "Why does that girl look like Evelyn?"

The shopkeeper blinked. "Evelyn? That’s the name on the order."

Dad’s face darkened, fists clenched. "Coincidence. Evelyn’s probably hiding somewhere, watching us, loving every second of this. Are you part of this? Playing games with the police?"

The phone rang abruptly. Mom answered, breath shaky. "Liam?"

The voice on the line was frantic. "Ms. Carter, we have the DNA results from the victim."