The moment my grandmother saw me, she pulled me into a tight hug, her eyes red from crying.
Clutching my mother’s ashes, I followed her to the family cemetery, where we laid my mother to rest in her hometown soil.
On the way back, my grandmother noticed the sadness clouding my face. Worried, she gently asked if something had happened.
After a moment of hesitation, I told her everything.
I didn’t hide a single detail.
When I finished, my grandmother let out a cold laugh.
“Communicating with the dead? And people actually believe that nonsense?”
She patted my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ll get to the bottom of this for you.”
My grandmother had been a teacher all her life, and her former students now held high positions across various industries. She was deeply respected.
After she shared my story, many of her students were furious on my behalf. They promised to use every resource at their disposal to uncover the truth.
Over the next few months, I stayed at my grandmother’s old countryside home.
I rose with the sun and rested at dusk.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I could breathe freely.
I had peace.
Many of my grandmother’s former students came to visit often. They treated me like a cherished niece, doting on me like a princess.
One of them, in particular—a handsome, successful young man named Hector—stood out. He was only a few years older than me, yet one day he blushed and slipped a handwritten love letter into my hand.
Stunned, I stared at the letter.
Such an old-school confession. I couldn’t help but laugh, amused and touched at the same time.
Just when I thought I had finally left the corpse retrieval team behind, I got an unexpected phone call.
It was Darius.
“Leizl,” he said curtly, “come back immediately. We need you to locate a victim’s body.”
I frowned. “Is that an order?”
He replied flatly, “If you show up within 24 hours, I might consider getting back together with you.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
“Are you insane?” I said, then hung up—and blocked his number.
But just minutes later, another call came in.
It was my father this time.
His voice was even harsher. “Leizl Edwards, you’d better come back right now.”
I responded coldly, “You’re mistaken, Mr. Edwards. I’ve taken my mother’s surname. I’m Leizl Sanchez now.”
Then I hung up on him, too—and blocked him just the same.
Still, those two calls stirred something in me.
Why now?
They hadn’t contacted me for over a month. Why the sudden urgency?
I couldn’t shake the curiosity, so I did a quick online search.
What I found shocked me.
Even after disappearing for so long, I was still being dragged through the mud online.
Logic said the internet should’ve moved on to its next scandal by now. So why were people still wasting time attacking me?
And then I saw the reason.
Lesley.
Her fame hadn’t faded. On the contrary, she had only grown more popular.
She was now the face of numerous international brands, attending elite forums and galas, fully embraced by high society.
Every move she made was broadcast online, followed by adoring fans and endless praise.
But with every compliment she received, the public would inevitably bring me up—just to hurl more insults my way.
As for my father’s company, it was thriving thanks to her popularity and was now on the verge of going public.
The corpse retrieval team, however, wasn’t so lucky.
They had encountered several cases involving complex hydrological conditions and had repeatedly reached out to Lesley for help.
But she always had an excuse—too busy, prior engagements—and declined every time.
With no expert to guide them, they were forced to resort to cruder methods.
They began using iron hooks to drag along the riverbed—like plowing a field—hoping to snag the bodies.
By the time the corpses were retrieved, they were often beyond recognition, torn and mutilated by the hooks.
Grieving families would collapse in tears at the sight. The team’s reputation took a severe hit.
Some team members, wracked with guilt over the condition of the remains, began to suffer from depression.
Several were already showing signs of mental strain.
