2pac autopsy photo

Sophia was forced to marry a man she never loved just to stop her father from going to jail. The marriage however turned out to be a living hell after she discovered a painful truth that destroyed her. Sophia usually gets home late from work every day with expensive gifts, looking so flashy. She starts getting cold with Shawn, disrespecting him as though he never meant anything to her. He reported Sophia to Joana, her cousin, but she denied her involvement. Sophia kept her secret affair with Mathew away from everyone. Shawn stopped worrying about her mischief and decided to carry out his investigation on her. On her way to work, he trailed her movement and found Sophia heading to a different route. He was confused and kept trialing and behold, her cab alighted in front of a big mansion. Shawn was devastated and knew his girlfriend was cheating on him. He took a photo of her for evidence and returned home, disclosing it to Joana, her cousin. Hard for her to believe, they waited for Sophia to return. As usual, she returned very late. Shawn confronted her and accused her of cheating, but she denied it until he showed her the evidence. She was stunned! She had no idea Shawn trailed her. Frustrated by her act, Shawn beats Sophia to a pulp and throws her out of his house. Now his father's words were starting to get to him. He regretted not listening to his father. Sophia left his apartment in pain and went crying in Matthew's arms.

During the exchange of tokens in the Marking Ceremony, I presented the wolf tooth ring I had carved myself, as a witness to our marking. But my Alpha mate, Frendo, remained completely indifferent, not releasing any marking aura, as though he had entirely forgotten that today was the day of our spiritual bonding ceremony. At that moment, Lily updated her Instagram, saying she would be returning to the Sliver Lake Pack in an hour. The air immediately filled with the restless scent of wolves, and before I could react, my Beta brother, George, stepped onto the ceremony stage and emotionlessly announced, "The Marking Ceremony is canceled." Frendo and George, in perfect synchronization, turned and left the altar together, leaving me standing alone, under the watchful eyes of all the Pack members. They wanted to see how a one-person marking ceremony would proceed. It wasn’t until I held back my inner frustration and awkwardly finished the ceremony with some semblance of dignity that I opened Lily’s Instagram. In her latest photo, George and Frendo were both surrounding her, releasing intimate signals. One was holding a silver moon festival gift box, while the other offered her a moonlight rose, her favorite. I bitterly smiled and wiped away the tears from my eyes before calling the one family that truly mattered, my flesh and blood. "Dad, Mom. I want to go home."

In the late stages of her pregnancy, my wife slipped away into the mountains with her childhood sweetheart, seeking some reckless thrill under the open sky. Fate, however, had other plans. She suffered a massive hemorrhage, and the two were rushed to the hospital. As a doctor, I took one glance at her condition and instructed the nurse to prepare for the cremation. In my previous life, I had risked everything to save her. On that very operating table, she and the child inside her perished together. Her childhood sweetheart, overcome with grief and fury, rallied others to accuse me of seeking personal revenge. Their rage was relentless, and they broke my hands. "A butcher like you, without medical ethics, deserves nothing less than eternal damnation!" they shouted, their words burning like brands on my soul. Yet I distinctly remembered—the surgery had been a success. Her vital signs had stabilized. Clinging to hope, I begged my in-laws to conduct an autopsy, to uncover the truth buried beneath the accusations. Instead, they called the police, who swiftly charged me with performing surgery under the influence of alcohol. Stripped of my rights, I was thrown into prison, where suffering became my only companion. Years later, upon release, I stumbled across a sight that tore what was left of my heart to shreds—my wife, alive and well, behind the wheel of a luxury car, accompanied by her childhood sweetheart and their child, living off the fortune I had worked tirelessly to build. Their betrayal didn't end there. Coldly and methodically, they lured me into a trap, casting me into a cement mixer to erase every trace of my existence. When I next opened my eyes, time had rewound itself. I was back on that fateful day, the one when her hemorrhage began.

My boyfriend is a forensic artist. He was forced to make a harrowing decision to save his first love. At the killer's demand, he created a portrait from a photo—he never realized that the young girl in the photo was me in my childhood. Two weeks later, the police investigate a grisly bomb explosion and dismemberment case. The victim's identity was unrecognizable, and the investigation dragged on for days as the authorities desperately searched the blast site, looking for my remains. After three days and nights, they finally recovered enough of my remains to reconstruct my face. When my boyfriend unknowingly brought the shattered fragments back to life with his art, he was confronted with a horrifying truth—one that drove him to the edge of madness.

As the upcoming tour approached, the dance troupe suddenly revoked my position as the lead dancer. Anxious to get an explanation in person, I lost my footing due to my distracted state and tumbled down the stairs. While enduring the sharp pain and preparing to call for emergency services, a notification popped up on my phone screen: “Redwood Dance Troupe: Welcome our new lead dancer, Averil Wells, and our generous sponsor, Julian Ford." The accompanying photo featured two smiling faces—my husband of seven years, whom I had secretly married, and his pampered mistress. Julian had his arm wrapped around Averil's waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Meanwhile, Averil clung to Julian's neck, her face radiating shyness and delight.

Five years had gone by since my death. The cops called my mom and told her they got news about me. My mother and brother marched to my grandmother's home and kicked her door down. "Where's Charlie? That shameless woman has been hiding from us far too long. Her brother needs her cornea, and she's giving it to him!" "Charlie's dead," said my grandmother, sobbing. My mother sneered. "As if. The cops called us. They said they had her news. Hand her over or get out of the house, you hag." My grandmother looked at her daughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. With trembling hands, she took my photo out. "I wonder if you've ever regretted saving your brother, Charlie."

I died beneath the Ferris wheel. The killer took a photo of the Ferris wheel and sent it to my mother. 'Mom, I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you too,' wrote the killer. In my mother's voice message, her tone was filled with hatred as she replied, "How dare you ask to ride the Ferris wheel with me when you killed your own sister? Why won't you just die?!" As she wished, I was dead. However, what she didn't know was that the one who killed me was my so-called dead sister.

After five years of simping over Hayden Reid, a car accident wiped Lena Dawson's memory clean. To humiliate her, Hayden handed her a photo of his uncle and said, "That's your boyfriend. Go after him." Then, she pursued Hunter Reid, the elite who became wheelchair-bound because of her. Everyone expected him to ruin her, but instead, Lena became Mrs. Reid, radiant and untouchable. Hayden regretted it and wanted her back, but she had already moved on...

On the night of my fifth wedding anniversary with Sebastian Gray, he lit up the entire city with fireworks for me. All our friends kept saying what a wonderful man he was—so loving, so romantic. The kind of husband every woman dreams of. At the grand finale, the fireworks burst into words that lit up the night sky: Happy Birthday, Jen. Jennifer Kingsley was Sebastian's first love, his ideal woman, the one who had always lingered in his heart. Sebastian looked at me, his expression almost sheepish. "Ah, it's Jen's birthday too. They must have mixed up the fireworks." That night, Jennifer posted on her social media: "Men are boys till the day they die, always fumbling their way through romance." She added a picture of the fireworks, along with a photo of her and Sebastian standing close under the dazzling display. I liked her post and left a comment: "From school to altar—what a touching love story. When's the wedding?"

It was about time because my dad got a new girlfriend and said he wanted us to have a meal together to introduce the new woman into our lives. On the day we met, my college roommate saw my chat background, which had a photo of me and my dad, along with a series of transfer records. She lost her mind. She enlisted the support of our other roommates, who rarely paid me any attention and began to attack me, insisting that I was a side chick who deserved to die. I did not expect that my roommate would soon become my stepmom. Before I could explain, she accused me of trying to seduce my dad behind her back, shouting, "Shameless side chick! Going behind my back to seduce my boyfriend! All those times you said you were out studying?! Who knows if you were just meeting up with him?" I was once physically assaulted, stripped of my dignity, and forced to the restaurant for a public confrontation wearing ragged clothes. Then my dad came running to where I was hardly breathing and barely moving on the floor, bruised to the extreme. “Sweetheart, who did this to you?!”