One early summer evening, Mark came home early. He said he wanted to take me somewhere. He didn’t bring anyone along or check my bag or belongings. He just held my hand and led me to the car.The car drove out toward the countryside, the sun sinking behind the hills.As he drove, he suddenly said, “Eliza, today is my birthday.”The road stretched on, and I watched the sunset through the window while he slowly shared his past.“When I was eleven, I killed a man to save my mother. My father didn’t care about my mother or me. He had many women and children, and my mother was just one of them.”Night fell, and he turned on the headlights. His voice was calm, as if telling someone else’s story. “My mother loved my father deeply, but she was a pitiful woman because my father didn’t love her.”Eventually, the car stopped in front of an abandoned amusement park. Somehow, it had been renovated. Lights flickered on, neon glowed, but there wasn’t a soul around.“I’ve never been to an amuse
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