"How are the injuries so severe?"
In the bedroom, Geta carefully fed Robert the medicine soup and then began to bandage the wound on his shoulder, complaining discontentedly.
"Hmph, such a heavy hand, she truly is my kind." Robert didn't seem angry, his voice even carried a hint of subtle pride, causing his young wife Geta to simply roll her eyes.
"If you keep indulging her like this, be careful that one day this daughter you picked up from the streets will kill you." Geta said coldly.
"If that happens, it would be a wish fulfilled for me," snorted Robert, "Besides, she isn't someone I picked up from the streets. Watch your words."
"I've never heard you mention having this daughter." Geta hid her bitterness deep inside, and on the surface, reproachfully said, "She's almost as old as me now."
"Ah." Robert shook his head and remained silent.
