Lyra's tense little face suddenly drooped as she got off the bar. When her toes landed on the ground, Morris Jackson's hand protected her lower back, preventing her from spraining her ankle or falling.
He was always considerate, careful, and cautious.
Lyra pushed him away and walked in, her previous intoxication gone: "Baby Victor is fated to be with me. No matter what, I will give birth to him. If you don't want him, Uncle Morris, I'll raise him myself. I can afford it."
Morris Jackson knew she had misunderstood his meaning, walked in, and clasped Lyra's shoulder to turn her around: "Lyra."
Lyra pursed her lips and looked at him.
Instead of immediately explaining her misunderstanding of his words, Morris Jackson first lowered his head to kiss her forehead and hugged her in his arms before saying, "How could you think that I don't want this child?"
Lyra still sulked, "Uncle Morris didn't seem very happy."
Yes.
