My mother suffered a tremendous mental blow, and her health deteriorated rapidly.

She grew increasingly emaciated, her face pale, her eyes hollow, resembling a walking corpse.

Each day, she lived in guilt and regret, repeatedly looking through my photos and murmuring to herself.

"Caroline, I'm so sorry; I was wrong…"

My father, on the other hand, smoked incessantly, one cigarette after another.

He tried to numb himself with tobacco but could not escape the torment within.

In the end, my mother could not hold on.

In her final moments, she clutched my father's hand tightly, summoning her last ounce of strength to say, "Caroline… go find Caroline…"

With that, she...