The longing gaze of her son softened Zhan Yuying's heart. Forgive him? The thought had just surfaced when a sharp pang hit her—No! When she was curled up in the car, helplessly waiting for death with her son in her arms, where was he? Her son's happiness and anger, her own hardships and trials, all had nothing to do with him. To forgive him just like that, it was unacceptable! Unwilling!
Her expression hardened again: "Pingping, Mom is willing to see you acknowledge your ancestors and return to the Ye Family, but it has nothing to do with him!"
"Mom, I'm almost nineteen years old, and if calculated closely, I've spent about two years with you, haven't I? I know you are busy, so I've never complained, but do you know the longing in my heart?
Cousins from happy and complete families, I envy them to madness, even envying being scolded by their parents.
When I was young, I often fantasized that one day you would bring Dad home and tell me, 'Son, we too are a family of three.'
