Blanche's POV
I glanced down at my daughter racing toward me, feeling my heart melt despite everything. With both hands clutching grocery bags, I could only murmur softly, "Okay, sweetheart. Mommy will cook something delicious for you."
Even after Carry had wounded me repeatedly, the connection between us remained unbreakable.
Carry stood up straight and reached eagerly for the bags. "I'll carry these, Mommy."
The bags weren't light, and I couldn't bear making her struggle. "Go play instead. I can handle this."
But Carry persisted, wrapping her small hands around a bag of fruit. "My teacher told us we should help our parents with household tasks. I don't want you getting exhausted."
These words made my eyebrows draw together slightly.
If the previous Carry had spoken like this, I would've been overjoyed. I would've caressed her face and praised her maturity.
Now, though, I felt detached, like I was watching someone else's life unfold.
