Maxwell Palmer thought about doing something crazy.
Snatch her back.
The taxi drove out of the street, and the old houses completely blocked the view; he couldn't see Eliza Morgan, and those dark thoughts kept growing and fermenting in his heart.
He shouldn't have come.
Shouldn't have tried to quench his thirst with poison.
He rolled down the window, took deep breaths forcefully, letting more oxygen flood into his already sick and rotting body.
Then, a figure burst into the rearview mirror.
"Stop the car!"
The taxi driver braked hard, leaving a long skid mark on the ground.
Maxwell Palmer got out of the car.
Eliza Morgan stood far away, not coming any closer.
He walked over, staring at her with an intense gaze. He waited for a long time, but she didn't speak.
He asked, "Was that your daughter just now?"
Eliza Morgan didn't answer, her expression wary.
"How old is she?"
"Why are you here?" Eliza Morgan was even more indifferent than she had been ten years ago.
