Ying Rui saw it through the feed and his whole body went rigid.
The slap connected with a sharp crack—right across the boy's cheek.
Mao Mao's head snapped to the side. His small body jolted, and for a second he just sat there, blinking, stunned, one hand slowly rising toward his face like he wasn't sure the sting was real.
And then his eyes welled.
Mo Yuxin wasn't done.
"You," she spat, and the word was aimed straight at the boy on the bed. "Do you have any idea what you've put me through?"
Mao Mao's lips parted. His voice came out small. "Mama—"
"Don't Mama me!"
She stepped closer, and now she was towering over the bed, over both of them, her chest heaving, her face flushed with something raw and ugly and long-buried.
"Do you know how long I've been looking for you? Do you know how many times I called your name? And where were you? Where were you, Mao Mao?"
Mao Mao shrank back against the pillow. His hand found Jua's sleeve and clutched it tight.
"I—I was—"
