The Next Stop of the Train

A man in his forties who had lost his daughter not long ago. That day, he watched his daughter's coffin being slowly buried. He didn't understand what all this was about at the time, but later he learned that his daughter had disappeared for seven days for no reason. He only remembered that his daughter told him before she left that she would go to a friend's house for a week. But then I went to her friend's house and that friend gave me a letter and a pink phone watch. The content of the letter is as follows: Dad. I'm a bit... Sorry. (These words were written crookedly, with a long horizontal line drawn between "right" and "no", as if I regretted it after writing it and wanted to erase it and start over again. The paper was a little fluffy.) I'm just sorry. … I continued to look down and saw this: Just don't be... Too... Sad. (These words were written very lightly, and there was a line behind the word "", as if she originally wanted to write something else but didn't know what to write.) I know. Dad. Without my disobedient daughter, you are the only one left... (Something was crossed out again here. There were some deep horizontal lines on the paper. I looked closer and could vaguely make out the words "Sorry", which she had rubbed out with force.) Dad. I know my mother passed away very early. Just be sure to forget me and don't be sad... (There is a long line at the end of this sentence. The pen tip paused on the paper for a long time, and a small smear of ink spread.) But there are a few lines at the end, deliberately written very small, as if they want to hide them and don't want to be seen: I, I, I... You continue to hurt... This... So dad you won't forget me...