From the day Sarah died, I lost my father at the same time.
George had moved to another house and he had adopted a daughter.
She was my age.
Before my body was found, he was celebrating his adopted daughter's eighteenth birthday.
George wouldn't give me, a murderer in his eyes, any attention, but he would celebrate the birthday of his adopted daughter, to whom he was not related, on the anniversary of Sarah's death.
If George knew that I, the murderer, had ruined the birthday party he had prepared so carefully, he might hate me even more.
But there was always a glimmer of hope in my mind that George would forgive me the moment he saw me die.
Samuel froze. He tried to say something, but he was interrupted by George.
"Show me the body, and autopsy it now!"
Samuel was the best detective in the city, and he had solved countless major criminal investigation cases together with Sarah.
It had been two full days and nights since the moment Samuel had stepped through the door.
My body was finally almost completely pieced together.
The only thing missing was my right hand.
George sighed as he looked at the body that had been pieced together, and the muddled clues left him scratching his head.