It was the landlady, an elderly woman who had always been kind to me and often reminded me of my grandmother. She lived upstairs and opened the door with wide eyes, asking, "Who are you? Where is Peaches?"

The soundproofing in this building wasn’t very good. It couldn’t contain the emotions of four people arguing loudly. She valued quiet, and during my time here, there had rarely been any noise.

Upon hearing her question, the four people inside suddenly fell silent, as if someone had choked their voices. After a long pause, my mother spoke.

“We are Peaches’ family. She has passed away, and we’re here to sort out her...