"Hmm, okay."
She responded softly, her eyes slightly hot.
After hanging up the phone, she looked at the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
The light refracted into small spots, like scattered stars.
Tears silently slid down.
Don't run away anymore.
This time, try to stay.
When sick abroad, she could only curl up in the rental room alone.
No one cooked her a bowl of hot soup, nor did anyone softly ask her "Are you okay" late at night.
But now, at least someone cares about her, would come back to touch her forehead.
Even if it's just a brief visit home.
Even if it's freezing cold, and snowing heavily outside.
That person would appear by her side at the first moment.
Sharon Quinn arrived home quickly, still in her gown.
The snowstorm outside was strong, she carried the chill, feeling cool as she approached.
She had just rushed back from an important business dinner.
She didn't bother to take off her coat and went directly to her daughter's room.
The warm air inside was a stark contrast to the chill on her body.
She rubbed her hands and gently touched Vivian Sinclair's forehead.
She checked the temperature while slightly frowning.
"How could you not say anything when you're this feverish?"
The cool palm made Vivian Sinclair feel comfortable, and she lightly moved, instinctively nuzzling into her palm.
Sharon paused, then smiled: "You were like this when you were little, always clinging to me when you didn't feel well, like a little kitten, snuggling in my arms."
She withdrew her hand and gently brushed Vivian Sinclair's hair scattered on her forehead.
"Back then, you had a fever and held onto my arm all night, wouldn't even let go when I said I had to go to the bathroom, insisted on being held in my arms."
Vivian Sinclair couldn't really remember things from her childhood.
But looking at the light in her mother's eyes, she suddenly wanted to believe again.
What she remembered was that her mother remarried when she was seven and she was sent to boarding school.
She remembered every holiday when others' homes were brightly lit while she sat alone reading in an empty dormitory.
She remembered the pain of trying to get close as an adult, only to be pushed away with cold words.
But now, the tenderness in her mother's eyes felt so real, it made her waver.
Perhaps that's what it's like for those who lack love.
Even a little warmth, you want to rush toward it.
Even if in the end, you find out it's fake, getting burned, you still can't stop.
She softly said, "I quit my job."
Sharon's frown immediately relaxed.
"It's good to quit, there's no shortage of good law firms in Varden. Wherever you want to go, mom can help put in a word for you."
"That's not necessary."
"This time, I want to try on my own."
Vivian Sinclair sat up, her gaze calm.
She didn't want to rely on anyone anymore.
She wanted to carve out her own path, step by step, with her name.
She was indeed capable; she had gotten into King's University back then.
Within less than a year, she decided to study abroad.
The year she took the college entrance exams, she ranked in the top three provincially, receiving offers from countless prestigious schools.
But she deliberately didn't choose the easy path.
She longed for a bigger world, a fiercer challenge.
Thus, while others were still adapting to university life, she was already preparing for TOEFL and LSAT.
Abroad, she attended Yale Law School and interned at several top law firms afterward.
In the cold nights of New Haven, she read case precedents munching on a cold sandwich.
In the Manhattan offices, she pulled three all-nighters in a row revising pleadings.
At the London branch, she debated international arbitration clauses fluently with partners.
Those years, she had cried.
But every time after breaking down, she would grit her teeth and stand back up.
With such a background, finding a good job upon returning wasn't a problem at all.
Her resume on any HR's desk commanded attention.
Even without relying on connections, plenty of opportunities sought her out.
Sharon said with a smile, "Alright, if you face any difficulties, don't hesitate to tell mom."
She agreed verbally but silently remembered potential network resources.
Thinking if her daughter needed it, she could provide help anytime.
Back when Mrs. Prescott was still around, she had been oppressed.
In her presence, Sharon was always the "outsider."
Even buying clothes for her daughter would be criticized for "spoiling the child."
She endured for over ten years until her daughter grew distant, and the family became fragmented.
But now the old lady was gone.
Those who once considered the Prescott Family began to curry favor with her.
She carried some weight in Varden now.
The resources of the Prescott Family gradually leaned towards her.
Relatives who had coldly watched began to express concern, and business friends were willing to cooperate.
She was no longer the daughter-in-law who was looked down upon.
"Hmm."
Vivian replied, her tone flat.
She didn't further inquire about her mother's connections, nor did she mention wanting any help.
She simply gazed quietly at the falling snow outside.
Sharon asked a few more questions, noticing that Vivian didn't look too well, she didn't disturb her further and left the room.
She went downstairs to instruct the servants to prepare dinner.
When she reached the staircase, she even specifically reminded the kitchen.
"Miss has a fever, make some light porridge with ginger slices, but don't make it too salty."
Vivian indeed couldn't hold on, her mind went blank, and she fell asleep.
The high fever left her consciousness blurred.
She lay in bed, her breathing gradually calming.
Residual warmth from her mother's palm lingered on her forehead.
In her dreams, she seemed to return to her childhood.
A warm embrace held her tightly, a gentle song hummed in her ear.
The corners of her mouth moved slightly, perhaps she smiled.
When she opened her eyes again, darkness had fallen outside.
The dim light filtered through the curtain and spilled into the room.
Curtis Prescott was knocking on the door.
"Vivian Sinclair, come down for dinner."
She slowly sat up, rubbing her temples.
She remembered having a fever, falling into a deep sleep for a long time.
Footsteps approached,.
The door was gently pushed open a crack, Curtis Prescott walked in.
He wore a dark gray knitted sweater, the cuffs casually rolled up.
"Did you feel better after sleeping?"
He extended his hand, raising it to touch her forehead.
Vivian's breath caught slightly, instinctively wanting to dodge.
Such closeness was too much for her, close enough to disrupt her heartbeat.
But just as her body began to move, she suddenly paused.
She ultimately didn't dodge.
She closed her eyes, letting him check her temperature.
"It's not too hot anymore, the fever should be gone."
Curtis retracted his hand, his tone relaxed a bit.
"I'll make you some medicine after dinner."
"No need, I can do it myself."
She said softly.
Can't rely on him for everything.
He already had someone he should truly care about.
That person meant to receive his gentle treatment wasn't her.
Curtis paused, his fingertips lightly rubbed against his palm, seemingly wanting to say something.
Ultimately he just replied with a soft "Hmm."
He didn't persuade further and didn't insist.
"By the way, Uncle."
She casually asked while slipping into fluffy slippers beside her.
"When did you get a girlfriend? How come you've never mentioned it?"
Curtis was about to leave the room.
Hearing this, he paused his steps.
"About two months ago. The Joyce Family has always had a good relationship with our family, mom likes her, so it's set."