It felt like an invisible heavy punch to the chest.
Li Beicheng loosened his grip on her collar, his face showing a disheveled and panicked retreat.
She knelt in the hospital corridor, belly protruding; he didn't spare her another glance.
She gave a premature stillbirth and was sent to prison; he never visited to see her one last time.
Having endured such a sordid past, she confrontationally questioned him...
Did he ever care about whether she lived or died?
Reopening scars that had yet to heal, the pain Yan Xiaye experienced was a thousand times worse than Li Beicheng's.
Seeing the nervous caretaker hastily unlocking the side door to approach, she blinked rapidly a few times, and could not help but raise her hand to wipe the corners of her eyes, struggling out of that pitch-black despair. She accepted the towel handed to her by the caretaker, "You don't have to be afraid, both he and I are fine."
