Their Forgotten Daughter

Chapter 6

Even the forensic specialist couldn't hold back his tears. "Captain Carter, you and Ms. Carter should go back to the station. We'll notify you immediately if there are any developments."

My mother seemed numb, her gloved fingers tracing the dried bloodstains with unsettling gentleness. "Evelyn must have suffered terribly."

The officers around us were already choking back sobs. My parents climbed into the car, their expressions hollow. Seeing them like that twisted something inside me. From the moment I was found to my last breath, they had never once called me Evelyn.

At the testing center, Liam Walsh handed my father the report, his gaze flickering toward my mother with sympathy. "Captain Carter, I'm so sorry for your loss."

My father's grip tightened on the paper, his eyes scanning the details again and again, as if the words might change. Finally, his voice came out strained. "This... can't be right."

Liam exhaled heavily, resting a hand on my father’s shoulder. "Captain Carter, the scene’s been processed, and the body is in the morgue. There’s no room for doubt here."

Suddenly, my mother snatched the report from my father’s hands and tore it apart. Then, as if remembering something, she fumbled for the ring she had taken from the body earlier. The faint engraving inside—"lc"—made her freeze. Tears splashed onto the evidence bag.

The police had assumed the initials belonged to the victim. But they didn’t know—it was the name I had wished for, the one I dreamed of having if I were ever truly accepted back into the Carter family.

My father helped my mother stand, their steps unsteady as they entered the morgue. The moment they saw my broken, unrecognizable remains, a guttural sound tore from his throat.

I watched, bewildered. Why did they look so devastated? My death should have been a relief to them. Yet here they were, shattered.

My mother’s fingers trembled as she traced the old burn scars on my back. "Evelyn… how did we lose you like this?"

Her voice cracked. "When you first came home, you were so thin, so quiet. I told your father we had to feed you better, make you feel safe."

"But then everything changed. I hated how you kept to yourself, how you seemed to resent Isabella. I thought… if only you had never been taken, maybe things would have been different."

"You left us like this, forcing us to live with the guilt of failing you."

Men like my father rarely cried, but his eyes were red-rimmed, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Evelyn, I didn’t hate you. I was hard on you because I wanted you to be better. To survive in this world."

"If I had known that was our last conversation, I wouldn’t have made you go to Isabella’s match. Didn’t you have a math competition that day? Your mother and I… we would have gone with you. Just wake up. Please."

I sucked in a sharp breath, fighting the tears burning behind my eyes. If only they had spoken to me like this when I was alive. Now, no matter how many regrets they voiced, I could never call them Mom and Dad again.

The truth was, the moment they chose to believe Isabella’s lies over my words, the bond between us had already snapped.

Isabella never hid her cruelty after I returned. She turned my classmates against me—bugs in my bag, glue on my seat, whispers in the halls. All her doing.

Yet she’d always run to our parents with tears in her eyes. "Evelyn ignores me at school. She acts like she hates me. Did I do something wrong?"

And my parents would sigh, lecturing me. "Evelyn, you’re the older sister. Look after Isabella."

"Isabella stayed with us all those years you were gone. The least you can do is try to get along."

But they never stopped to think—while I was missing, I had been starved, beaten, treated like trash. To them, being found was my salvation. I shouldn’t have expected love.

My brother, Daniel, once noticed my distress and suggested changing my name. But Isabella sabotaged it. "I saw Evelyn going through Mom and Dad’s things yesterday."

When my father found my mother’s missing necklace in my bag, his face darkened. "You don’t deserve to be a Carter."

No one listened to my denials. After that, life at home became unbearable.

When I won a math competition, I saw pride flicker in my parents’ eyes—brief but real. But the next day, Isabella came home drenched, sobbing into my mother’s arms while shooting me nervous glances.

That night, the belt came out. Only when Daniel intervened was I allowed to retreat to my room.

Realizing she could manipulate them endlessly, Isabella grew bolder. During tennis practice, she forced me to fetch balls, then deliberately smashed them at me. When I flinched, she’d pout. "Evelyn isn’t even trying!"

To my parents, I was just a problem child, a disappointment.

When Daniel heard about my death, he abandoned his assignment overseas and rushed home.