Conrad hastily turned to the next page.
The next page, and the one after that. The content was the same throughout—all of it was about berating herself for her family's treatment of her.
Conrad's name appeared several times. Things he could not even remember were recorded in painstaking detail. And the words that followed were always the same.
Conrad's hands were trembling. There were five identical notebooks. Did that mean... all of them were like this?
"What is..."
Conrad unconsciously lost his grip on the diary. It slipped from his fingers and fell upon the desk, flipping open to the first page.
This handwriting was badly crooked, with letters smeared here and there.
Yet Conrad could not bring himself to call it ugly.
Perhaps the reason he could not look away was that the next sentence caught his eye as naturally as breathing.
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