In August 1904, I found a suspicious diary in my home.
First of all, my wife picked and bought this medieval house six years ago, but my wife and two daughters died in the shipwreck the year before last year, although my daughters washed up on two different coast two days later, they were not saved.
A few days ago, I invited a carpenter to my wife's room, and he gave me a diary that he said he found in the ceiling of her room.
It was indeed my wife's handwriting. I opened it.
(month/date)
7/15: I will live with my husband from today. (It was my anniversary with my wife.)
9/21: it's because of you that I am myself.
12/9: still, I won't leave you.
2/23: almost!
2/29: do you understand?
I immediately felt so frightened that I moved far away from this place.
