On the night of February 2, 2011, my daughter was lured to a park under the guise of a part-time job.
There, she was raped and her body was discarded. At least three people were involved in the assault, but the killers were never found.
On New Year’s Eve, 2026, I prepared a table full of poisoned food and looked at my daughter’s photograph. “It’s been fifteen years, and I still haven’t found the people who destroyed you.
I don’t want to spend another New Year without you. I’m coming down to join you now.”
As the poison began to take effect, I set down my chopsticks and leaned over the table, retching. Just then, my phone rang.
When I answered, a familiar voice came from the other end: “Dad, I’m at the park. Wait for me, I’ll be home soon.”