Their Perfect Lie, My Unseen Truth

ew) ke setiap bab sesuai dengan permintaan An

able body in the marsh, complaining

her, the Chief Medical Examiner, I was just

at the silver bracelet on my wrist-the one I

le praising my adopted sister, Hope, and grumbling abo

unaware that I had been kidnapped and murdere

ismissed my death as the resu

hen they found the waterpr

he read the note inside: "An

the unmistakable mark of the kidney donat

pte

wn

gnizable and broken, and compla

s. The air was thick with the metallic tang of decay, a smell I was now inherently part of. It clung to the humid air, heavy and in

tched his stomach, his face pale green under the harsh lights. He fum

Looks... bad. Really bad. Requesting im

clinical. I was a problem, a case number

nt heart. They were coming. My parents. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth, a taste that wouldn't leave, not e

ing blue and red. His face, usually a mask of weary determination, was set in its familiar professional grimace. Beside him, Deborah Bishop, my mother, the Chief Medical Examiner,

ic duo of justice. But what kind of justice awaite

ice accustomed to authority. "I want this marsh sealed t

e scene with a practiced, detached gaze. She didn't look at me, not really. She looked throug

voice crisp and clear, cutting through the growing chatter. "Every de

kly replaced by his usual stoic resolve. He was seeing a victim, a Jane Doe, a puzzle. Not Fawn. I knew this, even then. He focused on

closest I'd ever heard him come to an emotional outbu

ranged artist. The marsh had done its work, blurring the edges of my identity, but the violence was screaming. My face, what was left of it, was beyond recog

officers gag, their stomachs heaving. Deborah, however, barely flinched. She was a professional, imp

rming a sacred ritual. There was a moment, just a fraction of a second, where her gloved hand hovered over my cold, clammy skin. A to

itter laugh bubbling in my spectral th

the one that no longer beat, thumped with a phantom hope. Would she see it? Would

de it for her, painstakingly etched with tiny silver ferns, her favorite plant. A peace offering, a desperate plea for connection. She had re

f emotion, as she carefully pried the bracelet f

e of the silver fern, flashed before my eyes. I had spent weeks on it, sacrificing my lunch money for the sterling silver, b

A bit rough around the edges, but some skill there." He didn't recogn

link of metal against plastic was like the sound of my last hope shattering. "Probably some

ate, the elegant, the perfect Hope. My adopted sister, the one who could do no wrong. Even in death

o the irrational hope that she would look closer, feel th

"Log this. Probably nothing. Some street trash, t

erent. The ungrateful one who needed to be disciplined, unlike my brother, Kyle. He was the only one who seemed to get it, who saw past the tatto

head. "No ID. Probably ran away from a good home,

g about me. My whole life, summarized and dismissed in a few harsh sentences. My choi

't recognize me. Not now. Not ever. The bracelet, my last des

Erasmo instructed, his voice gruff. "Standard p

rsh, his detective's mind moving on to the next clue, the next piece

ll I felt wasn't from the marsh. It was from the absolute, crushing certainty of their indifference. I was gone,