I was used to being alone.
I couldn't remember my childhood much, but I didn't think I spent much time with my parents.
When I contracted a mysterious illness after my eleventh birthday, my mother had a hard time being saddled with the new responsibility of taking care of me. But even when she always scowling, I was glad to be able to see more of her. After quite sometimes though, I supposed she got sick of it, and she kept fighting with my father. I heard they were fighting even in an event held by my grandfather, and it seemed like they argued even inside the car which eventually got them killed in a traffic accident.
I got moved to my grandfather's hospital after that, since it would be easier to take care of me that way. It was quite nice, since I couldn't go anywhere anyway, and the doctors and nurses treated me well at first, since I was the chairman's grandson.
I wasn't lonely then.
