Speaking of which, Mrs. Johnson sat beside Sky Moore.
Sky ate his meal very slowly, swallowing carefully with each spoonful. He felt Mrs. Johnson sit next to him and glanced sidelong at her.
His eyes were misty, deeper than what one would expect from a four- or five-year-old child.
Although sometimes Mrs. Johnson felt the child was too quiet, almost eerily so, her love for her grandson overcame her suspicions, and she completely forgot about her fleeting doubt.
"Oh?" Mrs. Johnson seemed to suddenly notice something, reaching out to grab Sky's little hand. She touched a small bruise on his wrist, "Sky, what happened to your hand? It's bruised. Did you bump into something?"
