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I am alone.

I wander down the hallway, looking for signs of life where there is none.

I see a little girl stumble into the hallway, her eyes bright full of wonder. She sees me and then runs to me, her arms stretched out to hug me.

The memory fades and so does the joy that had temporarily lit up my face. My little girl, Lorna was gone.

She had been walking home from school one day, when a truck skidded off the slippery roads and onto the pavement. The doctors said that she had died instantly and painlessly, but that still gives me no comfort.

My little princess is gone.

Driven by her grief, a few weeks later I returned home to find my wife lying on the bathroom floor.

Her wrists were slit.

A note, stained with blood, laid beside her limp body. It described how she was now reunited with our precious daughter. Our princess, Lorna. She also begged me in the note to come and join them, so we could be a family once more.

I wander down the hallway, looking for signs of life where there is none.

I am alone.

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