In the hospital room filled with the smell of disinfectant, the air froze for a brief moment.
As Old Master Ye's expression shifted ever so slightly, Momo's heartbeat slowed, and from somewhere deep in her chest, an emotion rose—slow, irresistible—spreading into her heart.
In her watery eyes, worry slowly condensed within that emotion.
Old Master Ye remained silent.
Facing Momo's clear, water-like gaze, the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat and, for a time, could not come out.
The eyes that had been clouded from injury went through a storm of change, and then, at Momo's soft, low voice—"Grandpa, no matter what kind of news it is, I can take it."
His apology lingered in the quiet ward. "Little Momo, I'm sorry, I know it's wrong to do this."
Momo's heart suddenly sank.
The small hand resting on the edge of the bed abruptly clenched the white sheet.
She pressed her lips together, forcing down the emotions surging like a tide in her chest.
