Outside, the house was still, but inside, she carried a silent vow: to hope, to watch, and to trust that the future, however uncertain, it might be, might still bring healing for Yueyao, one careful, guarded step at a time.
Fang Lin moved into the kitchen, her movements deliberate but quiet, as if the room itself demanded composure.
The soft clatter of knives and the gentle sizzle of vegetables greeted her, a comforting rhythm that helped anchor her scattered thoughts.
The maid, already busy at the stove, glanced at her and offered a small, knowing nod. Fang Lin returned it with a strained smile, slipping into the routine of chopping, stirring, and arranging ingredients.
Each motion required focus, and for the first time in what felt like hours, she let the mundane tasks absorb her, keeping her mind from spiraling back to Yueyao's fragile state.
