Just as Jasmine Yale was about to get into bed, her phone vibrated.
A text message.
She opened it, and it was actually from Sylvan Cheney—
Sylvan Cheney: I'm really hungry.
Jasmine Yale held her phone, and her anger flared up immediately.
Is he a three-year-old child?
Even a three-year-old can find something to eat when hungry, it's past nine, has he been hungry all this time?
Jasmine Yale typed two words: Idiot, but felt it was inappropriate, so she deleted it and didn't reply.
He's hungry, she sleeps.
Putting down her phone, Jasmine Yale lay down in bed and reached out to turn off the light.
She turned over, unable to sleep, rubbed her belly, and closed her eyes.
For some reason, her mind was filled with the scene of Sylvan Cheney drunk and collapsed on the floor that night.
That night, he scared her half to death.
Having experienced life and death separations, how could she bear any bad news about him?
Gastric bleeding, high fever.
