Nora clenched her fists tightly, coldly grunting, "Hmph." She continued, "After all, she's just a bastard child. Even her father doesn't want her. Who knows which man she rolled around with having a child."
"It's best for you not to follow in that little girl's footsteps in the future. You're still young, yet you've already had a child before starting a family. Spreading rumors like that, it's truly disgraceful!"
Sonya washed the dishes with frustration, her movements stiff and mechanical. Under the golden light of the kitchen, her face appeared somewhat rigid. Although those unpleasant words came from behind a closed door, they still reached her ears, making her uncomfortable!
Laughter continued to echo in the living room. Suddenly, Sonya stood up, but was immediately pulled back by a small, delicate white arm.
Sonya lowered her head in astonishment, then saw Iris hugging her, smiling at her. Iris' lively eyes seemed to penetrate the complex emotions in her heart.
"Mom, Iris will help you wash the dishes, then we'll go home early!"
After saying that, the boy promptly stepped up, his small hands firmly gripping the faucet. Sonya remained silent for a moment, then smiled faintly, suppressing her emotions.
Many times, she couldn't help but want to explode, but she forced herself to hold back.
They could target her, speak ill of her, and make her endure. Anyway, she knew she owed the Richart family. Without Mr. Richart's help, she wouldn't have had the conditions for such a good life, even though this house didn't exactly welcome her.
But no matter how much they despised her, at the end of the day, Iris was made of flesh and blood. Iris had done nothing wrong to them! Iris was just an innocent child, and so young, unable to endure the hardships that Sonya had endured when she was young! If Iris weren't here, she would definitely explode!
Just because Iris was here, as a mother, she had to help Iris have a beautiful childhood. She wouldn't step into the Nora family's house again.
On the way back home, Iris sat in her lap, and Sonya felt helpless as she buried her face in the boy's small shoulder. Her hand clenched the boy's small hand.
Like this, she suddenly felt regretful. Before, she shouldn't have been so selfish, keeping Iris by her side. Perhaps, leaving the boy with that man, with a father and a mother, he wouldn't have to endure these sufferings. Moreover, that family was wealthy and influential, Iris would surely live happily, right?
But she couldn't bear it.
Six years of affection, and it was the love between mother and child by blood. She couldn't bring herself to abandon this adorable child.
"Mom..." Iris obediently sat still, leaning against Sonya's small shoulder. Sonya whispered softly into her son's ear, "Mom is sorry, Iris..."
The little boy's mouth twitched, wanting to say something, but ultimately refrained. In fact, he really wanted to ask his mother, did his father really not need him? Did he really not like him, hence not caring about him?
Was he really like what the adults said, "born to a father but not acknowledged"?
The words reached his lips but were swallowed back down.
Iris turned his hand to hold Sonya's delicate hand, his small face looking up, gazing at the night sky outside the window, and said softly, "Mom, even if Iris' father doesn't need Iris, Iris still has a mother! Iris loves Mom, Mom doesn't need to suffer! It's all Dad's fault for making Mom suffer. When Iris grows up, Iris will protect Mom!"
Sonya looked into the boy's eyes, exhaled, and quickly hugged him. "Iris is superb..."
At the Anderson's house.
In the living room, Dennis sat on the sofa, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in his chest, an unbearable discomfort.
The boy furrowed his brows, his small hand stroking his chest, but his heart in his chest still pounded rapidly, causing him to gasp for breath.
The maid was helping him tidy up his toys, noticing the boy clutching his chest with a distressed expression, she quickly sat down in front of him:
"Master, what's wrong?"
"My... chest... hurts." Dennis's body was covered in cold sweat. "It feels like... being stabbed by a needle, uncomfortable..."
"Is it the same as before?" The maid also felt flustered for a moment.
The young master had always been like this, often experiencing sudden chest pains, but despite many trips to the hospital, the cause couldn't be found. The test results always showed a healthy body.
Even though he was a skilled expert, he couldn't explain this phenomenon.
Dennis curled up on the sofa, taking deep breaths of the cold air, his face cold and indifferent.
"What's happening?"
Mr. Anderson slowly leaned on his cane, descending the stairs. He wore a neat, dignified suit, and although he was old, he was still very agile. Others who looked at him wouldn't find it difficult to recognize that, in his youth, he was a handsome and outstanding man.
"Grandpa..." Dennis looked at him obediently and called out.
In the Anderson family, Mr. Anderson's position was unshakable. He had made significant strides in his career throughout his life, and his words carried weight. Therefore, just a glance from him could make others tremble with respect.
Although Dennis was pampered to the extreme, he still held a great deal of reverence for his grandfather.
But Mr. Anderson was extremely fond of the boy.
Evan was his most beloved grandson, and Dennis was his own son's biological child, so naturally, he doted on the boy.
Seeing his beloved grandson relapse into illness, Mr. Anderson's expression changed, and he hurriedly asked, "Feeling uncomfortable again? Is it your heart hurting?"
Although Mr. Anderson's expression was very caring, Dennis silently avoided him, clearly fearing him. The boy was terrified of Mr. Anderson, who rarely smiled or spoke all day, always maintaining a serious expression, so Dennis didn't like to be intimate with him. "It's nothing, Grandpa!"
"Nonsense! Look at yourself, sweating profusely from the pain!" Mr. Anderson felt extremely distressed.
"Grandpa, I... I'm going upstairs to read!" Dennis jumped down from the sofa and ran straight upstairs.
Mr. Anderson looked at the boy's figure and sighed.
The night was heavy.
The black Bugatti sped down the road, neon lights shining on the drops of water on its body, sometimes bright, sometimes dim. Evan controlled the steering wheel, his eyes cold and indifferent. Under the cold silver moonlight, his face resembled a silver-coated sculpture.
He stepped on the accelerator, the engine's roar overpowering all other noises.
His emotions tonight were a bit out of control. Although his mood had not been good before, or even when facing intractable problems, he could always control himself. Yet today, he felt inexplicably annoyed, even tired.
The cellphone rang.
Evan answered the phone, and Dennis's hesitant voice came from the other end: "Dad..." "Yeah? What's up?"
"Dad, my chest hurts again... Yesterday, I had a dream, I dreamt of Mom..."
The sports car halted. Evan lowered the car window, his face heavy: "Yeah? Mom?"
Marry? "Not this mom... I dreamt of there was a beautiful and gentle woman calling a name, but not mine... Oh, I don't know how to explain it! Anyway, I dreamt of her, and I felt very reassured, very warm, just like..."