"It's fine. I'm not fit to be your daughter, and you're not fit to be my mother—get up and leave now."
Leslie Howard took a deep breath and finally couldn't hold back anymore; she stepped forward to pull Sheila Fletcher up.
Sheila Fletcher, pulled up by Leslie Howard, looked displeased.
She brushed off Leslie's hand, "I don't need you to pull me up; I can get up myself."
Saying that, she stood up, slung her bag over her shoulder, and glared at Leslie Howard with great dissatisfaction: "Listen, Leslie, I don't care how you see it or think about it, but I am your mother. Don't forget the ten months of pregnancy I went through to give birth to you, and don't forget that after your Dad passed away, I was the one who raised you alone.
When you were five, our family was so poor we couldn't even cook, and you had a fever in the dead of winter. I carried you house-to-house through the snow, begging for help until a kind person lent me money to take you to see a doctor.
