The silent atmosphere made Miao Xin's back look even stiffer and lonelier.
Bai Lu said the most honest thing: "You are a mother, no longer someone who can act on impulse and be rash. You have to be responsible for your daughter."
You cannot be impulsive; you have to think of your daughter. That is what true maternal love is.
"You—" Miao Xin choked up, turning back to look at Bai Lu, her aggressive gaze filled with a sense of grievance.
However, Bai Lu was not wrong, because she herself was also a mother, enduring so much just as Miao Xin had. Perhaps even more hardships than what Miao Xin had faced.
Thinking about Little Baozi liking his dad more than his mom, what could Bai Lu, as a mother, do? She could only swallow her bitterness. This was the seed of their family, with their family's genes. No matter how much she loved her son, she had to respect his individuality and freedom. She couldn't be a selfish mother and strip away her child's individuality and choices.
