A week after losing the child, he held me tightly one night.
God knows my body had already become completely stiff by then.
His voice tickled my ear: "Don't be afraid, the doctor said you shouldn't move around too much for now, just let me hold you like this."
Ah, is this true?
He turned my body around, and I saw his eyes.
He said to me, "I understand you."
Such gentle words, so different from that day.
Can I trust you?
I bit my lower lip hard, looking at him, feeling warmth in my heart, but also a chilling cold.
Instinct told me I couldn't trust him.
He took one of my hands, looked at me, and left a gentle kiss on the back of my hand.
"Come with me somewhere tomorrow."
"Where?" I asked.
He said, "The Liu Group's anniversary celebration."
I forced myself to suppress the turmoil inside, noticing he might have seen my pupils shrink involuntarily, and he asked me what was wrong.
"Nothing."
