...
Iris Harris stared somewhat blankly at the woman on the hospital bed.
She looked very thin and pale, but despite the torment of illness, hints of her youthful beauty could still be seen on her face.
Her gray hair was elegantly pinned up, and beneath her light makeup was an innate elegance and nobility.
Is this her mother?
Even though it was just their first meeting, an inexplicable sense of closeness and attachment welled up from within her heart toward this woman. How marvelous is blood relation, that it can make two strangers feel familiar within the span of several decades.
She stumbled a bit, then clumsily rushed forward, embracing Giselle Lester's body, tears involuntarily falling.
Giselle Lester carried the faint bitter scent of medicine and her own fragrance—was that the scent of a mother?
She didn't know.
But that familiar feeling made her tears stain her entire face.
