Shen Xiaoxiao sat on one side of the bed, and Yan Kuan sat on the other.
For the first time, the four of them were lying on the same bed together.
Although Little Treasure still rejected it, Da Bao accepted it first. Yan Kuan's faint voice told the empty and boring fairy tale.
The children listened carefully and excitedly.
Perhaps this was the first father in their hearts telling them a story. The excitement could not be described with words, and the excitement could not be counted.
This kind of warmth was the first time in many years.
This kind of harmony was also a rare pursuit.
Leaning on the headboard, she slowly closed her eyes under the children's occasionally childish whispers and Yan Kuan's deep and hoarse voice.
She was tired, very tired. That kind of mental fatigue was Shen Xiaoxiao's most intuitive feeling at the moment.
