Ling Tian'ao sat in his mother's mourning hall, staring at the memorial tablet not far away.
Someone who had once been so full of life was now reduced to a cold wooden plaque.
Xia Zhisu leaned against Ling Tian'ao's chest and asked, "Why not bring Mom's memorial tablet back to China and place it in our home?"
"She said that even if she died, she would still be the mistress of this place." Ling Tian'ao gazed at the tablet with a look of deep sorrow and reluctance. "Her attachment is so strong that even in death, she refused to leave. This home was built by her and my father, filled with her tears and sweat."
Xia Zhisu could truly understand his mother's attachment.
She had painstakingly stood by the man she loved, helping him build a life and family together.
But that man betrayed her, in a way that was unforgivable.
And now, he lived here with another woman, in the home she had fought so hard to create—bringing along their son.
