Chapter 6

Inside the interrogation room of the police station, the harsh fluorescent lights shone down on two bruised, hateful people who looked more like mortal enemies than husband and wife.

Even in front of the police, they screamed and hurled accusations at each other.

Helen cried about John’s coldness and his family's obsession with a male heir, while John screamed that Helen was a crazy bitch airing dirty laundry in public.

An older detective, who had handled domestic disputes for decades, watched them in silence. He didn't stop them. He just stared at the breaking woman.

When they finally ran out of breath and their voices grew hoarse, he sighed and poured them each a cup of water.

"Both of you, quiet down," his voice was deep and heavy.

"The child is dead. What's the point of fighting over who's right or wrong now? You built this life together, and you made it what it is.

Treating a child as the source of your unhappiness and a punching bag—that was your biggest sin."

"If you, as parents, had shown her even a sliver of love, if you had actually paid attention to her, would a seven-year-old be out alone in the middle of the night? Would this have happened?"

The detective's words weren't loud, but they hit Helen like a sledgehammer.

She froze, her screaming stopping instantly as she sat there, stunned.

It was as if a bolt of lightning had cleared the fog in her brain that had lingered for seven years.

Countless memories she had tried so hard to bury rushed back.

She remembered.

She remembered when Lily was first born, and the nurse placed the baby in her arms.

So tiny, so soft, with a wrinkled little face. Her heart had filled with an overwhelming warmth and maternal love. She had sworn to give that baby the best of everything.

But when did it all change?

It started when they came home, and Martha glared at the baby, her face long and disappointed because it wasn't a boy.

It started with John’s obvious disappointment and his weak excuses.

Day after day, Martha whispered poison into her ear.

"A girl is just a liability. She’ll belong to another family when she grows up."

"Look at so-and-so, she had a boy and holds her head high. You have no son, you have no standing in this house."

"It's because of this girl that you have to work so hard, and my son is so tired."

And her husband, the man who was supposed to protect her, never said a word to defend her.

He only agreed. "Martha is right."

"Why can't you keep her quiet? She's always crying. It's driving me crazy."

"Look at her useless face. It makes me sick."

So, to survive in that suffocating household, to get a tiny nod of approval from Martha, to get a scrap of affection from John, Helen began to copy them.

She began to despise me, scream at me, taking out her career frustrations, her life pressure, and her hatred of her in-laws on the most innocent life in the house.

She had actually brainwashed herself into believing that my birth was what ruined her life.

Only now, when her daughter had been torn from her life in the most brutal way, and when a complete stranger pointed it out—did she finally wake up.

She wasn't a bystander to my tragedy. She was the executioner!

The root of the problem was never the "liability" child.

It was the weak, selfish, cowardly husband sitting next to her.

It was the toxic, misogynistic family behind him!

And she, in her pathetic bid to survive, had chosen to join them. She became their accomplice!

She had personally pushed her own daughter into hell.

"No... no..." she whispered, tears streaming down her face again.

But this time, it wasn't out of self-pity. It was from a delayed, agonizing guilt that tore her soul apart.

"I have to get justice... for my baby..."

She looked up, a terrifying fire returning to her eyes as she glared at John.

John, however, sneered at the detective's words. Seeing Helen staring at him like that, he felt humiliated.

He muttered to the officer, "Don't listen to her, detective. She's completely lost her mind."

He waved his hand dismissively at the detective's attempts to comfort them.

"Listen, officer, can we choose not to claim the body? She was just a girl anyway. Just let the state cremate her or bury her somewhere. We can't afford a funeral."

The room fell into a deathly silence.

Helen’s gaze on him became predatory.