The room was neat, though two cups of half-finished tea still rested on the sitting table, forgotten.
Minghao and Zhihao were not asleep; instead, they sat cross-legged on the bed, their postures stiff, and alert. The moment they saw her, both kids straightened, their eyes mirroring the same unspoken question.
"Mom," Zhihao whispered, his voice carrying a maturity beyond his years, "is everything… all right?"
Minghao's gaze was sharper, though edged with uneasiness. "We heard a lot earlier. Dad… he sounded like he used to. When he was angry. When you…" Her words faltered nervously, throat tightening with memories she wished she could forget.
Tang Fei crossed the room, her presence softening the tense air. She sat between them, reaching for their hands, squeezing one in each palm. The warmth of their touch grounded her, even as she felt the storm of their worry.
