Ethan sat there, utterly devastated, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the family photo. His sorrow felt like a heavy weight, crushing his very soul.
Blood mixed with his tears, blurring Claire's face in the picture. In a frantic attempt to clean it, he only smeared it further, staining her image a deep crimson, as if mocking the tragic path her life had taken, always shadowed by suffering.
Even just the sight of the photograph brought a flood of painful memories, each more unbearable than the last. The ache in his heart was so intense he nearly fainted. He couldn't bear to open Claire's diary, instead shoving it into the drawer and slamming it shut with trembling hands.
Clutching the family photo tightly, Ethan tried to leave the storage room. But as he stood, the world spun around him, and he collapsed to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth again. His stomach felt as if it were being torn apart, the pain excruciating.
He lay there, struggling to rise, but his body refused to cooperate. With shaking hands, he fumbled for his phone and dialed Victor's number.
The call connected, and Victor's voice came through, tinged with confusion, "Ethan, what’s going on? Why are you calling so late?"
Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt constricted, leaving him unable to voice his despair. Only the harsh sounds of coughing and the sickening noise of blood being expelled reached Victor's ears.
Instantly alarmed, Victor's voice grew urgent, "What’s happening? Are you alright?"
After a long pause, Ethan managed to choke out a few words, "I… I was wrong. I truly understand now…"
His voice quivered with emotion, each word seeming to be dredged up from the depths of his shattered soul.
Victor, though bewildered, sensed this was linked to Claire and urged, "Don’t panic, take your time. Where are you now?"
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