Chapter 1

After I was raped and murdered, my mom started selling meat buns.

The buns she made were incredible—thin dough, packed with juicy, flavorful fillings.

Rumors began to spread that the thugs who’d gone missing in our town might’ve somehow ended up inside the buns.

My mom just laughed when she heard.

"How could that be? I’d never use old meat in my buns," she said with a smirk.

One day, someone found a severed finger in one of her buns.

The shop erupted in chaos. Customers screamed, some ran out, others vomited.

The police arrived quickly, sealing off the scene. On her cutting board, they found part of a human thigh that hadn’t been chopped up yet.

And from the pot of rich, fragrant broth simmering on the stove, they pulled out a row of bones, still covered in tender meat.

But my mom didn’t flinch. She stayed calm, almost proud.

"The meat is fresh," she said. "Test it if you want. I never use old meat, and I refuse to grind it in a machine. It ruins the texture—makes it too soft, no bite."

She even started explaining her "secret recipe" in a slow, deliberate tone:

"You see, the meat needs to be braised first—so it’s tender and juicy when you bite into it. My braising sauce has—"

"Enough!" one officer snapped, cutting her off. "Laura Sullivan, why did you kill them? And where’s your daughter, Jane? She hasn’t shown up to school in weeks. What did you do to her?"

"School? What’s the point of school for a girl?" my mom sneered. "She doesn’t need it anymore."

I’d heard those words so many times in life, but even now, they hit me like a punch to the gut.

Because I was a girl, my mom always looked down on me.

No matter how hard I worked, I could never win her approval.

It’s strange. I’m dead, but the pain still lingers.

The police, confused, followed my mom’s gaze to the refrigerator.

When they opened it, everyone recoiled, covering their noses in horror.

Inside, they found me.

What was left of me.