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97. Have A Nice Journey to Hell

Ryan gripped his wife’s hand as he looked around the room.

Aside from the carnation flowers and mourning people in black attires, the room itself was kind of ordinary. At least, for people who was born with silver spoon in their mouth. But, for him … it was just his old childhood house.

The same wall his father pushed him against, so that he could easily ram his fist against Ryan’s tiny stomach. The same dining table where his father held him, so that he could lash the belt on his unguarded back. The same ceiling he saw, when his father kicked him again and again.

Nothing changed.

Except that his father was dead, waiting patiently in his coffin to be buried later today.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone from his past.

The woman looked younger than his father. Probably in her late forty or early fifty. Wearing a black dress like any other. The only thing differentiating her from the guest was that she already had a

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