In fact, the boy didn't like sweet sodas in the morning, but the girl liked toasting with him.
After taking a sip, the girl put down the Jianlibao, reached out, and grabbed Li Zhiyuan's right hand, pulling it open again.
The wound had scabbed over. After bathing last night, Li Zhiyuan was too lazy to bandage it again, and now the scald mark on his palm had faded, but the blood traces pierced by the five nails around it were still clear.
The girl ignored the wound she caused and caressed the scald mark on the palm with her forefinger.
"Don't worry, there won't be a next time."
After that phone call, he had stopped referring to her as 'mom' in his heart.
He didn't want to ponder whether it was Li Lan's last hysterics or a final, warped tenderness during a bout of her illness; he was tired.
She said he was not the son she wanted, but was she ever the mother he desired?
