"Susanna, haven't I told you not to enter my study room or touch my things without permission? Can't you remember, or are you doing it on purpose?"
Ethan Thompson's voice carried a clear undertone of grievance and dissatisfaction followed by the sound of him squatting on the ground, picking up the scattered pieces of broken wood.
As he picked up the yellowed photo that Susanna had stepped on, he immediately pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wiped off the dust she'd left with her foot, treating the photograph as if it were an irreplaceable treasure.
Susanna stood there dumbly, her face alternating between pale and flush, watching the man wipe the old photo with the handkerchief. Her nose felt sour, and her dry eyes stung— not just her eye sockets, but also her pupils turned red.
Warm liquid swirled in her eyes, and she stubbornly bit the corner of her lips, trying hard not to let those warm drops turn into falling tears.
