At the police station door, Chelsea looked around with a lunch box in hand.
She looked youthful and lively in her beige floral dress in the sunshine.
"Dad, I heard that you have a big case to deal with today. I'm worried that you will forget to eat, so I came to bring you food."
When she saw our father, she walked briskly and smiled as she brushed past me, covered in a white cloth and reeking of the corpse.
Dad stepped forward and carefully wanted to hold Chelsea in his arms. He said in a gentle and relieved tone, "Chelsea, you're so sweet. Let's go away. It's dirty and smelly here."
As he spoke, he gently covered Chelsea's eyes and said, "Don't look over there. I don't want to see you have nightmares at night."
I sneered. How could she have nightmares?
Someone who saw this scene sighed, "Chelsea is so sensible. How envious. I feel so bad for the victim. Perhaps like Chelsea, she used to be the apple of her parents' eyes, too."
"Indeed. Bob is so lucky to have two sweet daughters. I envy you so much, Bob."
Bob Wise was my father. He stopped smiling and said, "Not exactly. I only have one sensible daughter. The other one is here to collect debts."