CHAPTER 112 That Winter Night

　　That year, I was ten years old.

　　It was a late winter night. My parents hadn't come home yet, and I couldn't fight off the sleepiness, so I dozed off. But a sudden, sharp knock on the door woke me up.

　　I thought it was my parents returning. Sleepily, I got up to open the door, only to find two tall police officers standing there, their bodies and heads covered in snowflakes.

　　I nervously followed them out of the house, not knowing what had happened, but feeling a strange unease in their solemn and sometimes sympathetic gazes.

　　The accident scene was chaotic. Though it was deep into the night, a crowd had gathered. The truck had crumpled badly, and the snow on the ground was littered with shards of glass.

　　A person lay silently in the red-tinged snow.

　　At first, I couldn't clearly make out his face, but I recognized his plain blue work clothes and knew it was my father.

　　I walked toward him, staring at his bloodied face, unable to believe he was gone.