My dad hated my mom for pulling him away from the woman he truly loved.

So it was only natural that he hated me too, the unwanted child with my mother's blood running in me.

The year I turned eighteen, I was kidnapped.

The kidnappers contacted my dad, a police chief, demanding a ransom.

But he thought it was all a trap, a scheme I had cooked up to get his attention. So he told them to dismember me all they wanted.

And they did. I was tortured until I perished, my body discarded to the fish, mutilated beyond recognition.

As for my dad? He went insane. He hunted down the kidnappers and slaughtered them.

1

I was kidnapped by one of my father's enemies.

They called him, threatening him with my life.

"Mr. Mitchell, the famous head of the cops, we have your daughter."

"If you want her alive, you better come here on your own."

"Otherwise, she'll be chopped into little pieces."

The cold blade grazed my throat, its icy touch sending chills through my bones.

"Another kidnapping stunt?" My father's voice was emotionless, completely unaffected.

"Beatrice Mitchell, you're a lost cause."

"Dad, it's true! I swear!" My voice cracked, My voice cracked, filled with desperation.

"They're really gonna kill me!"

"Then let them be." His poisonous words hit me like a slap in the face, and I went numb.

"Dad..." I choked on my words, tears filling my eyes.

"I'm only eighteen. I don't want to die..."

"Please, Dad. Help me!"

The line went silent.

I stared at the phone, listening to the busy tone, tears rolling down my cheeks, colder than the knife pressed against my skin.

The kidnapper was furious. He dialed again.

"Robert Mitchell! Are you really not concerned I'll kill her?"

"My only concern is that you don't kill her!"

This time, my father's voice boomed with anger.

"I don't care if you cut her into pieces or tear her apart bit by bit! It has nothing to do with me!"

The call was cut off again. This time, I heard music in the background and happy laughter from my stepmother and my sister.

Oh, right. How could I forget? Today is my sister's birthday.

The three of them were probably celebrating it, forgetting about the world.

The kidnapper, still in disbelief, tried calling again. But my dad had already switched off his phone.

Furious, the kidnapper slammed his phone against the wall.

And for some reason, I started laughing.

He slapped me hard across the face.

"Bitch! What's so funny?"

Tears streamed down my face as I giggled through the agony.

"I'm laughing because... you kidnapped the wrong person.

"He doesn't give a damn about me.

"To him, I'm worth less than a bug.

"He only cares about my half-sister."

As I laughed, my tears morphed into sobs.

I looked up at the kidnapper, pleading with a desperate voice.

"I'm useless to him. You won't get anything by holding me.

"Please, let me go. I can give you as much money as you want...

"I... Ah!"

The sharp knife plunged into my stomach, and the pain spread instantly.

Pain shot through me, and I screamed while the kidnapper just grinned.

"Even your dad couldn't care less about you, only death serves you right.

"You can go to hell now, you're welcome!

"Oh wait. I can't let you just die like this, that'd be too easy.

"I'm going to make you suffer... for what your dad owes me!"

From that day on, I lived in a nightmarish hell.

I was tortured in every conceivable way until my body simply couldn't endure it anymore.

As I lay there, fading away, I thought, "I'm finally free."

This must be what Dad's always wanted, right?

Didn't he always tell me to just end my life?

Well, there I went. I was so close to death.

Just as he wished.

At the edge of my fading consciousness, I heard the kidnapper's haunting voice.

"Remember. It wasn't me who killed you... It was your beloved dad!

"I'll carve out your heart and deliver it to him."

2

I died.

I died at the hands of a cruel kidnapper.

He didn't just kill me. He dismembered my body and cut me into pieces.

He even cut out my heart and put it in a beautifully wrapped box.

I watched him, my soul hovering above, as he worked on my dismembered body with eerie precision.

But I didn't feel anything anymore.

I thought, "Ghosts are devoid of feeling.

"They don't get cold, or tired, or hurt."

I watched him deliver the gift box to my family's doorstep just before dawn, muttering under his breath.

"Robert, let's see if you can stay indifferent after seeing your daughter's heart."

I laughed again.

"Such an idiot."

At least this time he wouldn't be able to strike me for calling him stupid.

He'd be nothing but disappointed because my father couldn't care less about me, not even one bit.

If my dad ever cared about me, even just a little, would he have let me die like this?

Eighteen years ago, my mom had loved my dad desperately.

She had done everything to get close to him. When she'd finally got pregnant with me, she'd forced him into marrying her.

He ended up being seperated from his true love, so he hated my mom, and me even more, because I was the unwanted child.

He never gave a sh*t about me.

If he had, he wouldn't have let me die in such a horrific way, leaving nothing behind.

But I was curious to see how he'd react to this gift.

The door opened.

To my surprise, it wasn't my dad answering the door. It was my sister.

She picked up the gift box, smiling as she carried it inside.

Soon after, I heard the screaming and chaos.

I floated into the room and saw the box being knocked over, my heart rolling across the floor.

My dad was livid, grabbing his phone and sending me a voice message.

"Beatrice! What have you done?!

"Don't you know it's your sister's birthday? Is this some kind of a prank?! This is disgusting! You're supposed to feel happy for her, not scaring the hell out of her!

"I must be cursed to have a daughter like you!"

I looked down and floated over to where my heart lay. I crouched down and gently touched it.

My hand passed right through the blood-soaked organ, cold and lifeless.

Oh, right. It's been away from my body for far too long.

Even if I could still feel things, it'd be freezing cold.

I glanced up at my dad, who was losing control, and I desperately wanted to tell him.

"Dad, this isn't just a prank. And did you just call it disgusting?

"It's my HEART...my once beating heart.

"Are you really this repulsed just because your precious daughter is frightened?"

But of course, he couldn't hear me. He made another call, barking orders.

"Beatrice Mitchell is guilty of threatening and harassing my daughter! I want her arrested immediately!"

I didn't know what the person over the phone said, but my father's rage only grew.

"She is not my daughter!

"She's a monster!"

3

I remember the first time he called me a monster, that was like ten years ago.

At that time, my mom was bedridden and gravely ill.

She remained in bed, coughing up mouthfuls of blood. I pleaded with Dad to take her to the hospital.

But Sarah Turner stood in my way. Sarah was my dad's most cherished woman, and by then, her belly had grown large.

She fell down the stairs that day for reasons I still don't understand.

Blood pooled everywhere, a deep, terrifying red. It frightened me so much that my legs gave way, and I collapsed right on the spot.

When I regained consciousness, I found myself trapped in a closet.

Since I was a child, any time I made a mistake, I was punished by being locked in a closet.

This time, I had no idea what I'd done wrong. I pounded on the door, crying.

"Dad! Please, let me out!

"I'm scared! It's so dark in here!

"Dad, please! I'm begging you!"

But no one came.

I stayed in that cramped, suffocating space for what felt like forever.

Long enough that I thought I was going to die.

Then, all of a sudden, the closet door was yanked open.

My dad stood outside, his face cold and disgusted, as if he were looking at something filthy.

"Do you realize what you've done wrong?" His voice was icy.

"I... I have no idea." I shook my head frantically.

"Dad, I didn't do anything bad. I swear.

"Believe me. I didn't push Sarah. She fell on her own."

The mention of Sarah seemed to trigger something in him. His eyes flashed with anger, and then he slapped me hard across the face.

"You ungrateful monster! Still won't admit it?

"You could have killed Sarah!

"Thank goodness she's still alive! If anything had happened to her, I'd make sure you paid with your life!"

My ears rang from the blow, and everything else he said faded into a blur. I could only watch him in stunned silence, his lips moving, but I couldn't hear a thing.

His contorted expression was burned into my memory, haunting me for years.

It still did, and it always popped up at the worst times, like right now.

I watched him slam the phone down in frustration and then glance at that bloody heart on the floor. His brows furrowed in disgust.

I glanced in the direction of his gaze.

It didn't even look like a heart anymore.

It was covered in shiny confetti, probably left over from the birthday party they'd celebrated the night before.

The maids hadn't cleaned it up yet.

My dad's eyes hardened, and with all the force he could muster, he kicked the mangled mess out the door, where it tumbled down the hallway like a discarded piece of trash.

I chased after it, trying to grab it, but my hands passed right through as it hit the ground, landing in the dirt outside.

I watched helplessly as the heart landed in the dirt outside like discarded garbage.

I crouched down, staring at the filthy, abandoned thing. I should have felt sad.

But I was just a ghost now. Sadness didn't touch me anymore.

Still, I wiped my eyes. "How odd.

"Why do I still have tears? Why are they streaming down my cheek?" I wondered.

A ringing phone shattered the silence.

I turned to see my dad answering the call, his expression annoyed.

Thanks to my ghostly state, I could clearly hear the voice over the phone.

It was a young girl's voice.

It was my best friend, Janet Wood.

"Mr. Mitchell! We can't find Betty!

"I've been trying to reach her, but she's not answering!

"Can you please help me find her?"

"This is the second time you've pulled the same stunt. Don't do that again!" Dad snapped, barely containing his anger.

"Janet, I'll let this slide out of respect for your father.

"But you'd better stop hanging around with someone like Beatrice!

"And don't ever call me to talk about her again!"

He ended the call with the same disdain he showed me, interrupting Janet before she could explain, just like he'd always ignored my explanations.

I drifted around him, staring at the same look of disgust he always gave me.

I just didn't understand why he hated me so much.

"Mr. Mitchell! Bad news!"

A young officer burst into the room, panting heavily.

"Your phone's been off, so we couldn't reach you...

"They pulled a female body from the river last night. We found Beatrice's phone and wallet on her!"

4

I saw a flicker in my dad's eyes.

"Is that... worry in his eyes?" I wondered.

"Could he actually... be concerned about me?"

That made me recall a period of time when he'd actaully treated me good.

That was when I was five.

My parents had a terrible fight, neither of them would give in.

My mom was crying, begging him. "It's my fault, not Betty's. She's your daughter too. She craves for your love. Can't you just love her back?"

After that, things changed for a while.

But not in the way my mom had hoped.

Sarah, moved into our home, and suddenly, she and my dad acted more like a couple than he and my mom ever had been.

They kissed, hugged, and laughed together right in front of her.

My mom just watched, silent and distant, like she was the one who didn't belong in this place where it was supposed to be her home.

But I knew how much it hurt her. I'd hear her crying late at night when she thought no one else was listening.

From then on, my dad's attention turned to me, but only briefly.

He'd play games with me after work, sometimes even show mercy on me when I got sick.

Everything started to change when Sarah got pregnant.

Suddenly, all his attention was on her. He didn't come to hang out me after work anymore.

Instead, he'd lock himself in the bedroom with Sarah, and I'd hear them bursting into laughters.

He stopped reading me bedtime stories, too. Instead, he'd rest his hand on Sarah's belly, saying he needed to spend quality time with my sister, the baby, before she was even born.

And he stopped smiling at me. Sometimes, he'd even yell and scold me harshly, saying things that really hurt.

Then Sarah tumbled down the stairs...

My sister was born premature, and my dad blamed it all on me.

He said I was so evil. Just because I was jealous of the new-born would share his love, I pushed Sarah down the stairs to kill them both.

No matter how much I explained, he didn't believe me. He slapped me for the first time in his life that day.

Memories flooded back, like scenes from an old movie reel.

My dad's cold, indifferent face blended with the image of his stiff, upright figure ahead of me.

Without realizing it, I'd followed him to the riverbank.

The area was crowded with police, some of whom I recognized.

George Walker hurried over as soon as he saw my dad, concern evident in his eyes.

"Mr. Mitchell! The DNA results aren't back yet, but based on the body's build, it doesn't seem to be Betty! So, don't worry!"

I hovered behind my dad, noticing his fists clenched tightly.

What he said next left everyone stunned.

"Is this how you report a case to your senioro? What's the right protocol?" His voice was icy, devoid of any emotion.

"Go back and copy the work manual ten times- hand written!

"Now report to me again about the case!"

George blinked, momentarily thrown off, but quickly stood at attention.

"Yes, sir! Initial assessment shows the body has been dead for over 24 hours. The facial tissues have decayed, unable to identify. We're waiting on DNA confirmation..."