The day of my funeral, it was pouring in Lovelle.When the emergency rescue team sent over my belongings, all that was left was my notebook that was soaked in rainwater.It was my diary.Dad hobbled and almost crawled to my tombstone.Charlie rushed back home from abroad, looking disheveled.Mom collapsed on the wet, muddy ground, hugging my dairy tightly in her arms.Dad flipped to the first page with trembling hands.I had written that entry when I was eight.[Today, Charlie broke the vase. Mom was furious.[I claimed that I broke it, and Mom caned me three times. Charlie was so frightened, he promised he would never break anything ever again. That’s great. Charlie learned his lesson. It didn’t hurt for me.]Dad flipped another page and it was an entry I wrote when I was ten.[Today, Charlie snuck out to the river. When Mom pushed my head into the water, it felt so cold and my nose was filled with sand.[But when I saw Charlie crying so hard on the bank, I’m sure he would
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