Even my parents weren't spared. They were doxxed, harassed and driven into hiding. Every time they dared step outside, they were bombarded with insults, garbage and even funeral wreaths thrown at their doorstep. In the end, they died miserable deaths in our own home, their bodies left to rot unnoticed.
Am I really doomed to repeat this tragic fate? Will my son die in vain again, his murderer never found? My mind was in turmoil, a tangled mess of confusion and frustration. Where did everything go wrong?
In my past life, I clearly took my son to kindergarten. Yet, everyone who saw us that day swore we were never there. In this life, I had kept my son at home. Still, he had vanished into thin air, only to be found dead in the pond near our house.
I had done nothing wrong. Yet, the surveillance footage showed clear evidence of me committing the crime. Why? Why was this happening? Who killed my son?
A thousand questions swirled in my mind, clouding my thoughts. I knew something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was. I desperately combed through my memories of both lives, searching for a single clue, a thread that could unravel this nightmare.
Then, just as I was about to be shoved into the police car, a sudden realization hit me like a lightning bolt. My eyes widened in shock before I spun around and shouted at the top of my lungs, "I know who the killer is!"
