Yan Huan grabbed the little blanket on his body. His little red lips moved, but he did not make any sound.
When Ye Rong went back to work, she did not hear Yan Huan’s soft sigh. In fact, even if she did hear it, Ye Rong would probably think that she had misheard it. Her daughter was only five months old, and she was still a suckling baby. How could she have so many thoughts, how could she have sighed?
In fact, what she did not know was that the Yan Huan in front of her was no longer a child that she did not understand.
She had already been reborn twice. In her previous life, the most imperfect thing was her mother.
