Her initiative caught William Hale off guard.
Then, he gripped her hand tightly.
"Zoe," William Hale looked towards the distant horizon, where the autumn sun was intense, but the wind carried a chill that made it impossible to feel any warmth.
"Hmm?" Zoe Bell murmured in response.
"My mother was an excellent person, intellectual and gentle, a pianist, and she translated a few French fairy tale books. She once wanted to publish a book of her own short stories, but she passed away before her wish could be realized."
"When she died, I was still very young and didn't have a deep impression of her."
"The only thing I remember about her is that she had a beautiful smile."
This was the first time William Hale had brought up his mother on his own accord.
Zoe Bell just listened quietly.
She was young, but she still had some memories, and it was the age when she needed a mother's love.
