When I came home from the hospital and entered the door, my tears burst into my eyes, and my sadness surged again. My parents have left me forever in that car accident. I will be alone in the future. The happy laughter of my family in the past has become my painful memory. I took a look at my room, but I couldn't walk by myself. My legs, the doctor said, must rely on miracles to stand up. I finally lay on the small bed in my bedroom, looking around at the books in the room, recalling the joy of getting the admission notice of key universities. On that day, the father driving the taxi excitedly took my mother and I for a ride to have supper. My father was very happy. He didn't drink wine at ordinary times. He drank a few cups, but on the way home I closed my eyes and felt a knife like pain in my heart. They gently took my door, and I heard them whisper in the living room about who would take care of me. Gradually, the discussion turned into a dispute, and finally quarreled loudly. They are the relatives of both my parents. I don't blame them. Everyone has their own life and work. In the hospital period, I have dragged them down enough. In addition, they have tried their best financially. My eyes are patrolling the room, hoping to find something that ends my life. I look at the paper cutter in the bookcase and the glass teacup in the middle of the desk, but I can't get it.