Jasmine Yale laughed abruptly, "You still have the nerve to say that? Did daddy spank you?"
"No, daddy doesn't hit me."
Whenever Chale Cheney mentioned Elder Cheney, he felt a warm affection mixed with spite in his heart.
"You are not allowed to wet the bed tonight."
"I won't, I'm already a big baby."
Jasmine sat on Sylvan Cheney's bed, feeling an emptiness inside her, unsure what the feeling was.
Chale munched on the chips in his hand while he turned on the TV.
Sylvan's bedroom was spacious, with bright, clean floor-to-ceiling windows. The glossy light poured in from the window and covered the floor.
Chale sat obediently on the bed, while Jasmine stared at the little guy's face, unblinking.
As she watched, she habitually reached out to touch him.
Her carefulness resembled that of touching an age-old porcelain piece; she was afraid that with any carelessness, it might shatter once again in her hands.
She dared not be careless.
