The sheen glistened under the sun, beautiful like stars.
Jasmine Yale walked and stopped intermittently, sitting on a bench to rest when she grew tired.
The autumn wind was very comfortable, occasionally making her drowsy.
With a yawn, she leaned on Butler Santana's broad shoulder for a while, dimples with a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.
"Butler Santana, let me lean on you for a moment, sometimes I feel quite tired."
"If you're tired, just tell me, I'm always here."
"Mm."
Butler Santana looked at Jasmine Yale with affection. After Mr. Cheney left, living alone really wasn't easy for her. The hardships were likely only truly understood by her; others, without having gone through it, couldn't genuinely empathize.
Even if she lived under the same roof with Jasmine Yale every day, she couldn't feel it because she hadn't experienced it herself.
Some pain can only be understood if experienced personally.
The saying that you can truly empathize is just a lie.
