A woman in her fifties, because of good upkeep, looks at most in her forties, with skin on her face and hands fairer and more delicate than some young people who frequently stay up late.
"Mom, why are you here?" Hannah Hargrave pressed her phone to go dark and put it on the desk, slightly bent her body as if she were about to stand.
Josephine Hawthorne walked over and put the bag she was holding on the desk, then sat down.
"Nothing special, just came out for a stroll and happened to drop by."
"Nothing special?" Hannah Hargrave frowned in disapproval, "Did you leave Dad with the nanny again?"
Mentioning Henry Hargrave, Josephine shifted her position and lowered her gaze, speaking unnaturally, "With your dad's current condition, it doesn't matter who takes care of him; he can't care for himself, he even needs someone to feed him a sip of water."
Hannah Hargrave furrowed her brows again; though she wasn't satisfied with her mother's behavior, she couldn't say anything.
