Chapter 1

My dad was a raging alcoholic and a gambling addict. My mom was always calling me, sobbing her heart out over it.

With every penny I’d saved from work, I begged my mom to divorce him and leave with me.

But my mom, that very same day, went right back and told my dad everything.

My dad flew into a drunken rage and beat me to death.

My mom could have called the police, she could have saved me, but she was too scared. She just stood there, watching me die.

Afterward, she even lied to the police, claiming I attacked him first, and he was just acting in self-defense.

The next time I opened my eyes, my mom was sobbing to me again, complaining about my dad hitting her while drunk.

I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Why does Dad only hit *you*, Mom, and no one else? Clearly, that's just his way of showing how much he loves you!"

I was dead.

Killed by my own father.

It was my twenty-fifth birthday. My mom said she wanted to celebrate with me.

I was so caught up in the idea of celebrating with her that I forgot: my mom had never celebrated my birthday before. She didn't even know when it was.

After work, I politely declined my colleagues' invitations and bought my own birthday cake.

But I never imagined that when I got home, I’d be met with my dad's brutal beating.

My dad was drunk, reeking of alcohol, his eyes filled with contempt and resentment.

I didn't even get a single bite of my birthday cake before I collapsed to the floor.

"The deceased suffered multiple fractures, severe head trauma from a blunt object, accompanied by intracranial hemorrhage, and showed signs of violent struggle before death…"

"Witness Brenda Smith, is it true that your daughter, the deceased Aubrey Wen, was beaten to death by your husband, the suspect Frank Wen?"

The judge's face was beet-red, veins throbbing in his temples. I heard him say he'd never seen such brutal violence, a man beating his own daughter to death.

My mom stood on the witness stand, shaking her head wildly. "It was all my daughter's fault! My husband didn't mean to hit her!"

"My daughter was disobedient from a young age! She even deliberately provoked my husband! My husband acted to protect himself and me. It was self-defense!"

"My daughter was standing there with a knife! She's not right in the head! She wanted to kill us! She's always been mentally ill!"

My mom was hysterical, rambling nonsense.

And I, floating above them, watched her spew her nonsense with a blank expression.

I *was* holding a knife, but it was a plastic cake knife.

With all the fat on their bellies, that plastic knife would probably just snap if I tried to stab them.

Self-defense? Protecting *her*?

It was the first time I realized my mom could lie so smoothly.

This was clearly my dad's revenge. All because I said I'd take my mom, who he'd abused for years, and help her escape.

I wanted what was best for her. My heart ached for her.

But what did I get in return? My mom, turning around and practically melting into my dad's arms, 'innocently' telling him I was trying to break them up, that I wanted them to divorce.

So, I was lured back home for my birthday, only to be smashed to the floor with a stool by my dad as I was cutting the cake.

It hurt so much.

By the time my entire body was swollen and bruised, I couldn’t feel anything anymore.

In the end, because my mom committed perjury and signed a statement of forgiveness, my dad was acquitted and walked free right there in court.

The legal fees? They were paid with *my* life savings, the tens of thousands I’d scraped together from my job.

It was a sick joke. I never knew that the mother-daughter bond I thought we had was nothing but my own delusion, my own one-sided fantasy.

Because the case was so bizarre, even after I died, I ended up all over the trending news.

I watched the online trolls rip into me, and I watched my dad, after being acquitted, put on a whole show on live stream, claiming he'd 'spoiled' me rotten.

That's why I was so 'lawless,' 'uncontrollable,' and 'violent.'

Even Mrs. Jenkins downstairs, who I'd helped countless times, went on social media for clout, calling me a 'delinquent girl' and saying my death was a 'blessing' for the entire neighborhood.