Zhao Tian took off his shoes and stepped onto the bed, sitting beside his wife, watching her lie there motionless with her eyes closed. Throughout the journey, he kept holding her hand, which was still warm.
Although she hadn't woken up, she wasn't dead either; her hand remained soft, not the stiffness of a corpse.
No matter how his two sons called him, he remained silent, engulfed in self-blame.
If he hadn't made his wife so tired over the past year, this wouldn't have happened. Now that they were finally enjoying life, his wife who suffered alongside him all her life couldn't partake in the joy.
If he had stayed obediently at the eldest son's house, things wouldn't have turned out this way. It's all his fault; otherwise, his wife could have enjoyed a few more years of happiness.
Zhao Qingxiang saw this situation and was at a loss too. "Dad, Mom is still alive. I was thinking maybe we could give her some hot water?"
