After my daughter's suicide, I'm searching for the real culprit

My daughter Eliza Mclean was assaulted and murdered, but the court ruled it a suicide.
I appealed seven times, never getting a fair outcome. So I kidnapped District Attorney George Kennedy's daughter, Rosie Kennedy.
In the livestream, I strapped Rosie to the autopsy table.
Then, in front of everyone watching, I declared loudly: "I performed an autopsy on Eliza myself. Eliza didn't commit suicide—she was murdered.
"I'm giving you seven chances to reveal the real evidence and the killer. For every wasted opportunity, I'll destroy one part of Rosie's body."
George and his wife Millie Kennedy cried, begging me to spare Rosie. Millie said, "The evidence shows your daughter committed suicide. Stop this madness and release my daughter. She's innocent."
At that moment, viewers in the livestream were calling me deranged and cruel, saying I'd lost my mind over my daughter's death and was taking my rage out on an innocent person.
No matter how disgusted everyone looked at me, I smirked coldly, picked up the scalpel, and made a cut across Rosie's stomach.
I said, "Time's ticking. You better reveal the real killer fast."
I knew perfectly well that the actual murderer was watching this livestream right now.
Seeing Rosie bound to the autopsy table, George and Millie completely broke down.
George shouted at me: "Freya, your daughter committed suicide. What gives you the right to kidnap my daughter? She's only eight years old." Freya Mclean is my name.
Millie also said, "You're a mother yourself—how can you be so heartless?"
The police officers standing behind George tried to calm me down. My colleagues also urged me not to do anything stupid, not to ruin my future.
A female colleague said, "Freya, calm down. Don't hurt an innocent child. Eliza really did commit suicide."
A male colleague said, "You understand the law—don't make a mistake that destroys both you and others. Eliza wouldn't want to see you like this."
Another female colleague added, "That's right. Eliza's body is still in the freezer, waiting for you to take her home."
In the livestream, some viewers joined in condemning me.
[Is she sick or something? Her daughter's dead, so she thinks she can take it out on someone else?]
[I heard she won't accept that her daughter committed suicide—seven appeals all rejected. Looks like she wants revenge on George.]
[If seven appeals failed, it proves her daughter definitely committed suicide. Otherwise, they would've found the killer by now.]
[Her daughter committed suicide, so why doesn't she think about whether she's the problem?]
They had their reasons, and I had mine.
Eliza absolutely could not have committed suicide.
Three months ago, Eliza was supposed to start college in Washington, but she suddenly died.
Someone pulled her body from the river. She was naked, covered in bruises all over her body.
Since Eliza and I were mother and daughter, the police station assigned a different medical examiner to perform her autopsy.
I thought the autopsy would give Eliza justice, but the final result still ruled it suicide.
However, Eliza was such a bright, radiant child—she absolutely could not have committed suicide.
After bringing Eliza's body home, I performed my own autopsy on her with tears in my eyes, and discovered that Eliza had been assaulted before her death.
I gathered the evidence and appealed again and again, demanding the case be reopened. But every single appeal was rejected.
On the seventh appeal, I even photographed a particularly obvious, horrifying tear wound on Eliza's body as evidence. But in the end, I was still rejected.
I couldn't accept it, so I kidnapped Rosie.
I wanted the prosecutor's office to speak the truth with their own mouths.

I walked over to Rosie's side, toying with the scalpel in my hand.
I said to George, "I told you before—Eliza didn't commit suicide."
"George, I've already given you a chance. Whether you can save your daughter's life depends entirely on your choice. After all, blades are merciless—they can hurt people."
I'll never forget how indifferent George looked when my seventh appeal was rejected.
I was so furious I screamed like a madwoman: "All this evidence was found on my daughter's body—it's enough to prove someone committed a crime. I've appealed seven times and personally performed seven autopsies on Eliza. If that's still not enough, what evidence do you people need to reopen the case?"
But George just gave me a cold glance.
Then he said in that heartless, indifferent tone: "Freya, because you and Eliza are mother and daughter, the materials you've provided could be deliberately fabricated. They're insufficient to prove someone intentionally harmed Eliza."
His words made it crystal clear—no matter how many times I appealed, it would be useless.
Even my lawyer shook his head helplessly and said, "Freya, just give up."
Give up?
But every time I thought of Eliza's face, I couldn't do it.
Seeing that I was actually about to use the knife on Rosie, everyone panicked.
Millie pleaded with me directly: "Don't hurt my child."
Then she turned to George, pushing him frantically while saying, "You need to have someone bring out the evidence, or Rosie's going to die!"
George frowned and took a deep breath.
He still refused to budge: "Freya, how many times do I have to tell you? Your daughter really did commit suicide."
But before he could finish speaking, the knife in my hand had already sliced off one of Rosie's ears. Blood flowed from the wound.
Even though she was drugged unconscious, Rosie's body still jerked violently from the pain.
I said coldly to George, "You now have six chances left."
Seeing that I had actually hurt Rosie, everyone went into full panic mode.
Millie nearly fainted from shock, screaming hysterically: "You psycho! Don't touch my child—she's innocent!"
George's eyes turned red with panic as he frantically called his superiors at the prosecutor's office for help.
The police were desperately trying every method to locate my position.
Too bad they couldn't find me.
The account I was using for the livestream was a verified account purchased overseas—they had no way of tracking my exact location in such a short time.
During the wait, the livestream chat was flooded with comments cursing me.
[She's pure evil—she belongs in hell!]
[Why didn't she die instead?]
[Police need to catch this criminal who's a danger to society!]
Countless people cursed me, but I didn't care.
As long as I could clear Eliza's name, I was willing to do anything.
I ignored all the abuse. Ten minutes later, George publicly released what they called their "investigation evidence" in the livestream channel.
I took one look at it, then turned and severed one of Rosie's thumbs.
Then I said to George, "You have five chances left."

I'd already seen those pieces of evidence George had shown me countless times. All of them pointed to Eliza's suicide.
But I wasn't satisfied with any of that evidence.
Those so-called pieces of evidence were nothing but carefully fabricated lies, shields used to cover up the truth.
I continued holding the scalpel, gently sliding it across Rosie's arm, leaving a shallow trail of blood.
I said to George, "George, you know damn well this isn't the evidence I want."
My voice was ice-cold, sharp as a poisoned blade. "I want the real killer. I want evidence of who violated my daughter. I want those things you've gone to great lengths to hide. Stop trying to fool me with this fake garbage. Otherwise, next time it won't just be her fingers that get destroyed."
George's face instantly turned pale.
But he still insisted, "This is the evidence. These things clearly show that your daughter Eliza committed suicide."
Millie rushed toward the camera like a madwoman, crying hysterically.
She screamed at me, "You psycho! Let my child go! We've given you all the evidence. What more do you want?"
Watching her breakdown, I let out a bitter laugh.
I said, "We're both mothers. You can't bear to see your child suffer, and I can't accept my daughter dying for nothing."
At that moment, the livestream chat was once again flooded with viewers' curses.
[The evidence is right in front of her face. She just refuses to accept it!]
[She's got some kind of persecution complex, right?]
[We live in a society ruled by law now. I really don't know what she's still making a fuss about.]
The viewers' abuse was worse than before, but I couldn't hear any of it.
My eyes could only see the truth that refused to surface and the image of Eliza's death.
Time passed second by second. Each second felt like it was slowly cutting through my heart, while also counting down to the next part of Rosie's body that would be destroyed.
By the third chance, they were still trying to fool me with fake evidence.
I knew they were stalling for time. They were figuring out how to deal with me, but I wouldn't give them that chance.
I steeled myself and severed the tendons in Rosie's hand.
I said, "George, I have time to waste with you, but your daughter doesn't. What's it going to be? Are you really going to sacrifice your own flesh and blood to protect a criminal?"
George couldn't speak. His hands hung at his sides, clenched into tight fists, his whole body trembling.
Millie had already passed out.
The police were still trying to persuade me, even bringing in my teacher, Hugo Miller.
Standing in front of the camera, Hugo squinted his bloodshot, cloudy eyes at me and said, "Freya, you used to speak for the people. How can you hurt the people now? I know Eliza is dead, and you're heartbroken. But listen to me—don't go down the wrong path."
Looking at this man who had once loved me like his own daughter, my heart ached terribly.
Hugo had personally performed Eliza's autopsy, yet he was hiding the truth.
I asked Hugo, "You watched Eliza grow up. Didn't your heart ache when you were performing her autopsy? Why are you helping them hide the truth too?"
I couldn't understand why everyone was helping the killer cover things up.
Hugo sighed and said, "Freya, Eliza really did commit suicide. I'm not lying to you. The police aren't lying to you. Neither are the prosecutor's office or the judge."
After finishing, he exchanged a glance with George, then called in a girl who was standing by the door.
Hugo explained to me, "Eliza committed suicide because of depression. This girl can testify to that."
Seeing the girl in front of the camera, I froze.
?
That girl was Eliza's best friend, Elsie Jones.
Elsie spoke up in front of everyone.
She said, "Freya, I can testify. Eliza suffered from depression. She had suicidal thoughts."
Elsie's words left me frozen in place.
It took me a long while to snap back to reality, unable to believe what I'd just heard.
I stared at Elsie's evasive eyes, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, the pain making it almost impossible to breathe.
Elsie was Eliza's closest friend when she was alive. They were as close as sisters. She often came to our house for dinner and would sleep in the same bed as Eliza, sharing their secrets. How could she come forward with such false testimony?
I remembered that just the day before Eliza's accident, she had excitedly told me that she and Elsie had gotten into the same college. They had made plans to visit Washington together after the semester started, to sightsee and try all the local food.
When Eliza told me these things, her voice was full of anticipation and excitement. How could this possibly be the state of someone suffering from depression with suicidal thoughts?
I tried to keep my voice calm, but my slightly trembling hands betrayed my emotions. "Elsie, look me in the eyes and tell me—is what you're saying true? When did Eliza tell you she had depression? Did she go to a hospital? Is there a medical diagnosis?"
Elsie wouldn't look me in the eye, her voice barely audible: "Before the SAT exam, Eliza said she was afraid of disappointing you if she couldn't get into a Washington school. She said the academic pressure was too much, that she felt life had no meaning."
"That's nonsense!" I suddenly raised my voice, cutting her off.
"Eliza's grades were always excellent. Getting into a Washington university was her dream. How could she want to die because of academic pressure? You're lying! Did someone force you to say this? Was it the killer? Or George?" I paused, then looked toward Hugo. "Or was it Hugo?"
Elsie shook her head and pulled an envelope from her pocket.
She opened the envelope and took out a piece of paper.
Elsie said, "Freya, no one threatened me. Eliza really did commit suicide. This is her suicide note."
She unfolded Eliza's suicide note and held it up to the camera for me to see.
The note read: [Mom, I'm sorry. I can't go on living.]
I stared at that suicide note, my heart aching like it was being pierced by needles.
The handwriting on the note was indeed Eliza's, and the police had provided handwriting analysis results.
In that moment, I began to doubt my own judgment.
Had Eliza really committed suicide because of depression? Had I really failed to notice her psychological condition?
In my daze, I noticed a particular phrase in the suicide note.
Because of that phrase, I finally understood why Eliza's death had been ruled a suicide.

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