When Joan was released, she looked noticeably thinner.Exhausted and hollow-eyed, she returned to our house.She rummaged through my belongings for any trace of how I had met my end. She refused to believe that I had simply ended my own life. Like a madwoman, she screamed into the empty rooms, “Steven, come out! Come out right now! If you’re really that mad that I played a prank on you, come out and hit me yourself then!”In her rage, she smashed my favorite teacup, tore my most beloved shirt to shreds, and resorted to the most shameless provocations to draw me out. However, it was all in vain.I was gone.Two weeks after my death, Joan finally accepted it.Her eyes were bloodshot. When she drank with other people, there was often a mocking smile on her lips.“He brought it upon himself. He abandoned me and our son. Why should I miss him? Jimmy is so young, and I need him so badly. But what did he do?”She never once mentioned the terrible things she had done. Instead, sh
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