Their Forgotten Daughter

Chapter 7

When Daniel walked through the door, Mom and Dad were slumped on the sofa, their faces etched with grief. Isabella sat curled beside them, her cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen and nose flushed.

"Daniel, you're here at last. Evelyn...she's been murdered!"

"The police haven't caught the killer yet. Evelyn always rubbed people the wrong way. Maybe this time—"

Dad's voice cracked as he snapped, "That's enough! They've identified the suspect. The manhunt is underway! Your sister had nothing to do with him."

He and Mom exchanged a haunted glance. When they learned the killer was avenging their past sins—the death of his brother—the weight crushed them. Both collapsed where they stood.

Their least cherished child had perished because of their mistakes. Isabella's fingers twisted in her skirt, her forehead glistening with cold sweat. "How did they find him so fast? Why would he target Evelyn?"

Mom, her face drawn with exhaustion, murmured, "Isabella, we're sorry we missed your match. It must've affected your game."

Daniel scoffed. "She's probably thrilled Evelyn's gone. Look at her—not a single real tear."

Isabella shrank against Mom, her voice trembling. "Daniel, I know she was your blood sister, but you can't blame me for what happened."

"I'll take care of Mom and Dad in her place!"

Mom squeezed her shoulder, moved. Watching her cry for me had twisted my heart with bittersweet ache—until her defense of Isabella snuffed it out. I felt worthless.

Isabella had shoved me into the abyss. She was complicit in my death. Alive, I'd begged for Mom to see through her lies. Now? I just wanted the truth to gut them all.

Dad studied Isabella with narrowed eyes before quietly beckoning Daniel upstairs. Mom clung to her adopted daughter like a lifeline.

"Isabella, with Evelyn gone...you're all I have left."

Isabella murmured empty comforts while her thumbs flew across her phone screen.

Mom frowned. "Sweetheart, what's this mark on your arm?"

The red welts from where I'd clawed her grip off my chin. Isabella adjusted her sleeve. "Just a tennis injury. It'll fade by morning."

Guilt flickered across her face. Mom held her gaze a beat too long before looking away.