My brother fell from a tall building and was bloody and bloody.
As I was passing by, I calmly dialed the police number.
Just because in my last life, after seeing it, I hurriedly defended him.
My brother's death was framed by his mother and adopted sister as "suicide out of fear of crime."
However, I was sent to a mental hospital by her own hands, and she fabricated it as a "suicide out of fear of guilt" on the grounds that "excessive grief led to mental disorder."
She watched helplessly as I was injected with drugs and my life passed away little by little.
When I opened my eyes again, I went back to the day when my brother fell from the building.
