Rongquan didn't answer.
Guiying's gaze swept over the table where all five children sat. Yilin at six, quiet and watching. The four younger ones, still and silent, picking up on the tension even if they didn't understand the words.
"Look at them, Mr. Song. All of them."
"Yilin's already learned that fathers leave and that she has to keep the little ones quiet so no one gets mad. The two-year-old doesn't even know what 'gone' means yet, but he knows when you're not here. The others are learning it right now, from you."
He let that sit.
"Do you know what happens to kids who grow up like this? They stop expecting adults to stay. They stop asking for help. They stop believing they're worth staying for. And twenty years from now, when they're sitting across from someone trying to explain why they can't hold a job, why they can't trust people, they won't blame the system. They'll blame you. Because you were there, and you chose not to be."
